


Like Yourself

by iworshipyou_oliver



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Armie is divorced, Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 09:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19765144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iworshipyou_oliver/pseuds/iworshipyou_oliver
Summary: Timmy can feel Armie's warmth, his kindness and humor and affection, creeping under his defenses again.It hurts. Every time, it hurts, and if I try and keep my distance it hurts him instead.How much longer can I go on like this?*Timmy knows he isn't what Armie needs; knows that he can't be the kind of nurturing, supportive parent-figure that Harper and Ford will need after the divorce. He travels too much, works too much, is way too young. But he still can't get over the crush he's been suffering from for four years. If he tries to back away, he hurts Armie.And he has no idea what to do about it.





	Like Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this would be a light 5—10k thing. And then it turned out..huge.
> 
> Sorry about Britishisms!

When the text arrives, Timmy’s heart does its usual sickening swoop in his chest.

A:  **How are you doing, Tim?**

Timmy takes a deep breath and types in response.

T:  **all good. still filming in barcelona. you?**

A:  **Finished for a bit. Taking a few weeks to settle the kids into the new place, read scripts and figure out the projects after the next few. My agent needs answers on a bunch of stuff.**

T:  **sounds exciting...h+f all good?**

A:  **Yeah, no problems so far. Interested to see how it goes over the next few weeks…**

T:  **will be fun. you're a good dad** 🙂

A:  **Still. Pretty sure we'll all drive each other insane good and fast**

T:  **you guys will have to keep busy**

A:  **You're not in LA anytime soon?**

T:  **unlikely. here until at least the first week in june + not many breaks scheduled**

A:  **Shame!**

T:  **absence makes the heart etc**

A:  **Think it's been too long for that Tim. There's a time limit after which I'm just grumpy**

T: ✌️  **later**

*

T:  **hey dude. my cousin who has kids just posted about this street fair in LA tomorrow. looks like loads of kid stuff (face painting. bounce house. jealous) + food stalls for you** 🙂  **You guys probably already have plans but just thought i'd tell you** ✌️

T:  **[** **link** **]**

A:  **Looks cool. I was going to take them to the beach by default, but I'm sure they'd enjoy this**

T: ✌️❤️

*

**_Missed FaceTime call: Armie_ **

Timmy just doesn’t feel up to answering it. After several hours of filming and an overly-long cast and crew dinner, he wants to get to bed. No-one else at the dinner had noticed that he wasn’t drinking, and he had listened while the others got louder, rowdier. 

His chest aches at not taking Armie’s call, but he’s afraid of his own lack of filter these days, when he’s tired.  _ He always says he can read everything on my face.  _

_ What does four years of loving someone—missing someone so much it physically hurts—look like on my face, Armie? _

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **The kids had a great time. Face painting went down a storm…**

T:  **nice...butterflysaur???**

A:  **They each had control of one side of my face**

T:  **well they did a good job** 👍

A:  **You had a good day?**

T:  **just filming + dinner. tired + heading to bed** ✌️❤️

A:  **Night Tim. Sleep well**

*

T:  **[** **link** **]**

T:  **this looks amazing?? not sure if h+f are interested but space is always cool right?**

A:  **Had no idea they do star parties. I'll take them along. You still in Spain?**

T:  **yeah. few days back home soon. can't wait**

A:  **Sure you don't fancy sunny LA instead?**

T:  **sorry. grandma's birthday party**

A:  **Ah! Wish her a happy one from me**

T:  **will do. let me know how the stars are** 🌟

*

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **They loved it**

T:  **you guys really can't go anywhere without getting your faces painted huh**

A:  **Beginning to think we like it too much?**

T:  **at least they didn't paint uranus on your cheek**

T:  **SORRY. had to**

A:  **did you have to. did you**

T: ✌️❤️

A:  **When do you fly home?**

*

T:  **sorry, fell asleep. 3 days to go, home for 5**

A:  **Sounds good. Feels weird just being with the kids and not rushing off to places all the time**

Timmy sighs.  _ If I was in LA, would he want me there, around the kids? Would I even be any good at it?  _

_ I guess whoever he gets with now will need to be good with his children. Will need to be a real partner to him, prepared to be a full-time parent. _

_ And I’m twenty-four.  _

T:  **yeah? weird good, weird bad?**

A:  **Weird good. Guess I'll be ready to get back into things when Elizabeth has them again in a couple weeks though**

Timmy hesitates, and sighs. Any mention of her name still makes him tense. 

T: 👍✌️

A:  **You and your peace sign**

T:  **?**

A:  **Sometimes I think you just use it when you don't know what else to say**

T: ✌️❤️

*

Armie's text arrives when Timmy's packing to fly home.

A:  **What time's your flight tomorrow?**

Timmy bites his bottom lip.  _ He always knows I'll be nervous.  _

T:  **middle of your night**

A:  **What time? 10:50 direct?**

_ He must have looked it up.  _

T:  **yeah**

A:  **You doing okay? Kids and I are exhausted after hours of running around. We're all on the sofa. Harper's snoring. Can call if you want to talk**

T:  **i'm good** 👍 **just packing my shit then will get to sleep. hope you guys have a good rest of day** ✌️❤️

A:  **Let's talk soon, okay? xx**

In bed, Timmy pulls his knees up, hugging them to his skinny chest. He can’t wait to see his mom, and his dad. He can’t wait to be back in his city, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and people. 

*

T:  **[** **link** **]**

T:  **landed! guess you've been to the zoo loads but there's a night nature trail walk thing that looks cool** ✌️

Timmy threads through the crowds, walking fast with his head down and his hood up. He just wants to get out of the airport, get away from all these people who might ask him for selfies or take sneaky videos.

_ I just want to see my mom.  _

A:  **Hope the flight was ok. You know, one of these days you have to actually come to one of the cool events you keep finding us…**

A:  **Also I haven't seen your face in about 500 years, selfies or call me please**

She’s waiting in the pick-up area, behind the wheel of their car. 

“Hey, baby,” she says, as they lean into an awkward hug across the gearshift. “How was the flight?”

He nods, suddenly so overwhelmed by seeing her that he could cry or laugh. “Okay,” he half-shrugs.

“You exhausted?” she asks, as she checks her mirrors and pulls away. 

He leans his head back against the headrest. “Kind of.”

“You sure you want to stay with us?”

He nods more emphatically this time. His new apartment doesn’t feel like home yet. “Is it alright?”

“Of course.” She puts her hand on his knee. “You seem down, baby.”

He shakes his head; looks out of the window. “I'm fine.” His throat stoppers there, tight and aching.

“You can talk to me anytime, Timothée. You know that.”

“I know, Mom.” He forces the words out.

_ But what would I say? _

T:  **momma's just picked me up, going to sleep until grandma's birthday. so tired**

A:  **You okay, T?**

*

The next morning, he finds the strength to text back.

T:  **sorry, ate w my family + went to bed...slept for ages. you guys all good?**

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **They won't take their slow loris hats off now. They were charmed by Doris**

T:  **don't those things have poison elbows**

T:  **no face painting? no loris hat for you? disappointed, hammer. 0/10 for effort**

A:  **Ouch. Surely a bit more than 0?**

Timmy sighs and locks his phone, pressing its edge to the crease between his brows.  _ What do you want me to say, Hammer? You're so beautiful I can barely look at you? I wish you wouldn't send me pictures because it breaks my heart?  _

T:  **10/10 dad effort, so that's what counts**

_ There, that should be safe.  _

A:  **T, I feel like something's off? You want to talk?**

T:  **i'm good. just need about 48 hours more sleep i guess** ✌️

A:  **Not** ✌️❤️ **?**

Timmy sighs, his breath catching. He bites at his lip, trying to ignore the aching pressure in his lungs and chest, the sting of unsatisfied tears. 

T: ✌️❤️

*

**_Missed FaceTime call: Armie_ **

*

T:  **sorry man, was catching up w friends. hope you guys are good**

T:  **[** **link** **]**

T:  **they have this cute surfing taster thing for kids on the beach near you, thought h might like it** ✌️❤️

*

A:  **You were right...she does**

A:  **[photo]**

Timmy stares at the photo of Harper in a little wetsuit, her blonde curls darkened and disordered by seawater. Loving and missing Armie wrenches in his chest, more viciously than ever.  _ Is that right? Can you love someone's children properly, just because you love him?  _

T:  **cute! glad she had fun** ✌️❤️ 

It's all he can do to type the casual, meaningless message. 

A:  **T...let's catch up soon, okay? I miss hearing about you and how you're doing**

*

T:  **[photo]**

T:  **that's a lot of candles**

A:  **Thought it was going to be a photo of you there for a minute T**

A:  **Say happy birthday to Enid for me**

T:  **have done already**

A:  **No kid activity recs today?? I rely on you like Time Out now**

T:  **sorry dude, hope you find something cool**

*

A:  **Uninventive Dad took them to the beach**

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **[photo]**

Timmy's heart aches with it, with Armie's grin and the sunglasses hiding his eyes. The  _ glow _ he gets when he's with his kids is a kind of calm, capable happiness that Timmy thinks he's only felt a few times in his life. 

He looks at Ford and Harper with their ice creams, at the way the LA sunshine gleams in their golden hair. 

_ His kids—their kids—are beautiful. _

He doesn't know why it hurts so much. 

T:  **looks like they loved it** 🙂

A:  **They miss you, you know**

T:  **pretty sure they have no idea who i am man** 😂

A:  **Not true. I tell them who came up with the ideas for their day and Harper always remembers playing thousands of rounds of hide and seek with you**

T:  **well that** **_was_ ** **pretty fun**

Armie sees the text, and there's a gap, a hesitation where he types and then doesn't again. Eventually:

A:  **I miss you too**

Timmy closes his eyes for a second, trying to find control. 

T:  **you too! sorry i've been busy lately. i know it's been too long man**

A:  **I'd come see you tomorrow if I didn't have the kids. Before you go back**

Timmy's stomach tugs with the want of it, the visceral need to hold Armie, to just hold onto him and only let go when physically removed. 

T:  **i'll tell you as soon as i know when i’ll next be in LA, promise**

T:  **in the meantime**

T:  **[** **link** **]**

T:  **splatter painting + craft day! you can paint pottery! So fucking jealous**

T:  **seems like you can just basically coat your kid in paint and see what happens** 😂  **you might have to put them in towel burritos in the car on the way home tho**

A:  **You know I don't really understand why you find us all this cool stuff, but as a tired single parent I'm very grateful**

Timmy's heart aches again.  _ Tired single parent.  _

T:  **glad if it helps** ✌️

A:  **It does**

T: ✌️❤️

*

A:  **We painted you a mug. Well actually the kids painted you one:**

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **And so did I:**

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **They're both very ugly, sorry**

T:  **shh, i instantly love them. they'll match all of my sweaters that you hate**

Timmy's heart melts looking at Ford and Harper's tiny hands holding the purple and green mug they've painted. Armie's is much simpler: it just says  _ Sweet Tea.  _ Timmy tries not to stare too much at his fingers holding the mug. 

A:  **You'll have to come get them**

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **Currently they've been absorbed into the mug cupboard**

T:  **thank you, that was so nice of all of you** ✌️❤️

A:  **T, are you sure you're okay?**

_ I miss you. _

_ I miss you. _

_ I miss you.  _

T:  **flight tomorrow...will be better once it's done**

A:  **Ok, let me know when you land xx**

*

“Timothée.” His mom’s standing in the doorway, her hand on the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” He pulls his knees up; crushes down the horrible feeling that he’s about to receive a lecture of some kind.

She steps inside and sits down next to him on the bed. “Baby. You’re not happy.”

He turns his head away, resting his chin on his upper arm. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. I know you’re doing what you want to do, and your career is great, darling, but—” she reaches out; hesitates for a second, then puts her hand on his foot. Squeezes it a little. “You’re still not happy.”

“I’m just tired, Mom.”

“You’ve slept for days. Your Grandma asked me if something was wrong. Your Papa’s worried.”

Timmy scrubs a hand across his face, fighting the urge to cry. “I’m sorry. Sorry if I’ve been…” he shrugs. 

“No, Timothée. We’re not—we’re just concerned about you.” She squeezes his foot again. “Can you talk to me, baby?”

He presses his lips together, face still turned away.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Has something happened?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. 

“You want to know what your Papa thinks?”

He half-shrugs, feeling like a teenager again.

“He thinks you might be—missing Armie.”

Timmy takes a breath. “Why would he say that?”

“You two...you have a beautiful friendship. And you haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Timmy tries to keep his breathing even. He turns his head to the front again, though he doesn’t meet her gaze. “I've got a lot of friends, Mom. We text. We FaceTime. It’s fine.” His voice sounds flat and sullen, even to himself.

“Timothée.” She touches his arm, his shoulder, his cheek. 

The soft caress lodges in his throat, tightening it. His eyes feel hot.

“Maybe—more than a friendship?” she asks, tentatively.

Definitely, he shakes his head. “No. Never.”

She hesitates. “Never has been? Or never will be?”

His voice is croaky when he speaks. “Either. I guess.”

He hears her take a breath. “But you’d like it to be more.”

He looks away again, digging his chin too hard into his bicep, into the muscle, letting it  _ hurt.  _

“So why not?” she asks. “He’s divorced, isn’t he? Is he seeing someone?”

Timmy lets out a short, bitter huff of laughter. “Pretty sure he’s straight, Mom.”

She withdraws her hand. When she speaks again, she’s clearly trying to control amusement. “Timothée, I’ve rarely seen one human being look at another like that man looks at you.”

“That—that doesn’t  _ matter.”  _ He feels like a sulky, embarrassed adolescent. “He’s—he’s got kids.” He swallows. “Whoever he’s with—they’ll need to be in LA. And be...be ready to be a parent.”

He can  _ hear  _ his mom choosing her words. “Those kids already have two parents.”

“Yeah, but—” Timmy gestures with one hand, but stops quickly, holding his knees again. “He’s not going to want to be with someone who isn’t…” he shrugs. “Anyway, like I say. I think he’s only into women.”

His mom puts her hand in the center of his back. “The two of you've never discussed it?”

“Kind of an awkward conversation to have, Mom.”

“I thought maybe—given the movie you made together—you might have spoken about it.”

“He was married. And they had a kid. And then he got the news they were having Ford. So.” Timmy lets his head hang between his arms, staring blankly at his own feet.

“And not—afterwards?”

Slowly, Timmy shakes his head. “I don’t want to be creepy. We’re—we’re friends. I’m not about to ruin that.”

“You know him best, of course.” His mom rubs his back. “But baby—I—we all—just want to see you happy.”

“I know.” Timmy’s voice is rough, hoarse with suppressed tears.

“Just tell me one thing.”

He swallows. “Okay.”

“Would you move to LA with him? If he asked you to?”

Without looking up, Timmy nods once. 

She squeezes his shoulder, and leans in to kiss him gently on the cheek. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t expect you to know how to parent his kids, Timothée.”

She leaves him alone in the darkening room.

*

**_Missed FaceTime call: Armie_ **

A:  **You back in Barcelona, Tim?**

T:  **sorry, yeah. back + filming**

A:  **Harper's out at a birthday party this afternoon and Ford got addicted to Postman Pat in London so we're marathoning that**

A:  **[photo]**

Timmy stares at the photo of a sleepy Armie cuddling a snoozing Ford. It tugs at his chest, at his heart. He wants to be curled up with them. He wonders if there could ever be room for him in that scene. 

T:  **think f’s stopped paying attention, dude**

T:  **you are now watching postman pat alone**

A:  **Don't judge me**

T:  **never** ✌️

A: ✌️❤️ **?**

T: ✌️❤️

T:  **wait, how do you say 'see you fucker' in emoji**

A: 👀🍆 **?**

T:  **guess that'll do it**

*

T:  **[** **link** **]**

T:  **floating bounce house! so jealous**

A:  **Actually come with us for once then**

T:  **[photo]**

T:  **that, my friend, is Barcelona**

A:  **Fuck’s sake, Chalamet. It's been about a century since I saw or spoke to you**

T:  **[photo]**

A:  **That's a picture of your feet.**

T:  **i’m in costume/makeup. they'd kill me**

A:  **SIGH. Guess we'll get on with our new favourite activity...doing something awesome that Timmy's suggested, but never seeing him xx**

*

Timmy's phone vibrates with a FaceTime call just as he's finishing up making some notes for the next day, at the desk in his hotel room. 

He bites his lip, hesitates, then answers the call. "Hey," he says, brightly. 

"Hey." Armie gives him a smile. "The kids just wanted to say thank you. They had a great time today."

Timmy fights to keep his voice normal, even though his heart is pounding. "Oh, good. Not like that was really  _ me,  _ though…"

Armie shakes his head. "It was your—" he sighs, his gaze shifting off camera. "Hang on. Ford—" Armie breaks off and disappears from the screen. 

Harper turns the iPad so that she can see Timmy better. She holds up a green leaf, her expression telegraphing disgust. "Daddy says I have to eat my spinach."

Timmy grins. "You should. Makes you big and strong when you're all grown up." 

"Girls shouldn't be big and strong. Boys are." 

"Hey, no. That's not true. What if you want to be an athlete, or a swimmer, or a dancer? They're all  _ so  _ strong." 

_ "You're _ not big and strong."

Timmy chuckles. "No. But I never ate my spinach. Don't you want to be like your dad?" 

Slowly, Harper nods. "Daddy's handsome." 

Timmy licks his lips. "And tall. You might be tall too, so you'll need to be strong." He takes a breath. "Try a leaf, huh?" 

She puts it tentatively in her mouth, and chews. "I don't mind it. But the—the stringy bit is gross." 

Timmy smiles. "Maybe you could just eat the leaves for now? Put the stem back on your plate. Maybe you'll like it when you get used to it."

She nods. "Do  _ you  _ like salad?" 

"Kind of. I mostly just eat all the leaves with tomatoes, because I like them better." 

She reaches out for something and holds up a cherry tomato. "Like this?" 

"Yeah. I eat them together. And just concentrate on the tomato taste." 

She tries it with a couple spinach leaves. "That  _ is  _ better." 

"Good." 

Suddenly the camera swivels again, and Armie takes his seat at the table, holding Ford. "Hops? Well done. You've eaten quite a lot of it."

"Timmy told me to eat it with tomatoes."

"Uh—sorry—she said she doesn't really like the stalk 'cause it's all stringy and I just thought—" Timmy fidgets, his knee bouncing. He looks away. "Anyway. I should probably—" he hunches his shoulders. "Long day tomorrow and it's getting late, so—"

Armie frowns, brows drawing together. He sighs. "Crap, yeah. What time is it with you?" 

"Eleven fifteen." Timmy gives him a quick, tight smile. "So. Hope you guys have a good day tomorrow." 

Armie looks a bit startled by how fast Timmy's signing off. "Right—uh, you too, Tim. Sleep well." 

"Goodnight!" calls Harper, leaning into view. 

Timmy grins at her and waves, then hangs up.

*

A:  **Today it’s raining so we’re just at home coloring in. Tried to bake but our cookies turned into um...this**

A:  **[photo]**

Timmy grins at the mess of something that now looks like one giant cookie, but before he can reply he’s called back on set.

A:  **T? You good?**

A:  **I know the kid updates are probably dull but I’m not up to much else at the moment**

A:  **So tired every evening I just drop into bed and go to sleep immediately**

A:  **Tell me if you want me to give it a rest**

*

T:  **no no i just got called**

T:  **is that cookie just for you?**

A:  **You know me. Probably could eat it all but actually we all chipped some bits off. It wasn’t too bad**

T:  **i can ask my grandma for her shortbread cookie recipe if you like...wait neither of h+f are allergic to nuts are they?**

A:  **No**

T:  **i’ll send it to you when i get it**

A:  **Did she have a good birthday?**

T:  **yeah** 🙂  **her favourite restaurant + of course we embarrassed her with singing**

A:  **Nice**

T:  **she loves it really**

A:  **Sorry for earlier. I just know you’re not exactly in the kids stage in life right now so I don’t want to be boring**

Timmy groans and puts his phone down on the bed next to him.  _ And—even if he was into me—that’s what he thinks. He wouldn’t want someone as young as me as a partner. _

T:  **it’s not boring. i like hearing what h+f are up to. i just don’t really have any experience w kids so very aware i’m probably not useful**

A:  **You don’t need to be useful! Just nice to hear from you. How was your day on set?**

T:  **honestly...nothing that exciting happened**

A:  **You really haven’t sounded that enthused by this one Tim. Is Claire not good to work with?**

T:  **no she’s great**

T:  **idk. guess i’m just not feeling it much. not the project’s fault**

A:  **Not like you. Normally you’re happiest on set. Do you want to talk?**

T:  **honestly i’m good armie**

T:  **maybe just tired still**

A:  **Have you got any LA dates in the calendar yet? It’d be good to see you. Worried about you Sweet Tea**

_ Don’t call me that. Please don’t call me that.  _

A:  **Or if you’re free when Elizabeth has the kids I can always come to you**

T:  **it’s ok. i’ll check in w brian + see what i have coming up**

T: ✌️❤️

*

T:  **seems like i’ll be in LA in about 3 weeks, weekend of 8/9th?**

A:  **You can stay at my new place if you want**

T:  **it’s ok, brian’s already booked me in at the usual. be nice to catch up though if you’re in town**

A:  **Of course I will be, T. Afraid I’ll have the kids that weekend though**

T:  **we can just get coffee or something, won’t take long**

A:  **I meant we could plan one of your trips with them, if you want to**

A:  **But not if you don’t, it can just be tantrums and wanting to go home**

A:  **And that’s just me, let alone the kids**

T:  **you are hilarious**

T:  **sounds good but i don’t want to take up family time so just see how it goes i guess?**

A:  **No pressure**

T: ✌️❤️

*

T:  **[** **link** **]**

T:  **seems like there’s an extra special dinosaur from berlin at the nhm for the next couple months**

T:  **and drawing classes for kids**

A:  **You want to go when you’re here?**

T:  **sure** ✌️

A:  **Still no pressure**

T:  **i know**

*

A:  **Tell me one thing about your day**

T:  **filmed a fight scene. got a huge bruise on my stomach** 🙄😂

T:  **one thing about yours?**

A:  **shit, did you ice it? are you okay?**

T:  **i'm fine, honestly. Just emailed you that cookie recipe from my grandma btw. 1 thing about your day?**

A:  **The nanny came to pick up the kids. Feels strange without them.**

Timmy grimaces sadly. Still, there's a warm flicker of pleasure in his stomach that  _ he's  _ the one Armie texts when he's down. 

T:  **shit, sorry man. must be really weird. what are you going to do this afternoon? you should do something nice. that all day breakfast place you love? take some scripts, drink too much coffee, eat pancakes?**

A:  **That actually sounds perfect…**

T: 🙂  **maybe i just know you too well**

A:  **You do. You know I'll blame you when I'm hyper caffeinated and can't sleep**

T:  **yep yep** 🙄

A: 👀🍆

T: ✌️❤️

*

T:  **how you doing today man?**

A:  **Still in bed. Lazy to compensate for getting up at 5 the past two weeks**

T:  **deserved**

T:  **how's it going to work when you're filming**

T:  **with h+f i mean**

A:  **Hopefully everything remains amicable and flexible. Seeing them at the weekends a lot, when I can possibly fly home. But also having them for longer stretches in between like I just did to give Elizabeth time to work**

Timmy reads the message and presses his lips together, then chews on his bottom lip.  _ Hopefully everything remains amicable and flexible.  _

_ What if it doesn't?  _

_ He'll need a partner who's ready to step in and look after them, right?  _

T:  **sounds like a plan** 👍 

A:  **I don't know. All feels a bit like I'm just getting through from one day to the next rn**

T:  **think everyone feels like that???**

T:  **i do anyway**

A:  **Wise words Sweet Tea**

Timmy rolls his eyes.  _ He never forgets how much older than me he is.  _

A:  **That sounded patronising but I meant it**

T:  **...to be patronising?**

A:  **Ha ha. Seriously. Guess being an old single parent I feel like I should have my shit together but…**

T:  **'old'**

A:  **??**

T: 🙄 

T:  **you're not**

A:  **Must seem like it to you**

T:  **you're being ridiculous. you need more sleep**

A:  **Can't argue there**

T: ✌️❤️

*

T:  **excited to see the kids again this weekend?** 🙂

A:  **And to see you, asshole**

T:  **i'll probably just be a jetlagged cranky nightmare**

T:  **sorry in advance for that**

A:  **Not sure I've ever witnessed you being a nightmare Chalamet**

T:  **that's nice of you but you definitely have**

_ Well I didn't wear tracksuits for a month. But I guess you didn't notice me getting quieter and quieter while we were travelling Europe with your wife.  _

_ Or when I was staying in your house. _

A:  **You just get quiet, Tim. That's not being a nightmare. And tbh the kids are so loud that no-one will notice xx**

Timmy's breath catches. 

T:  **good to know** 😂

A:  **I still want to talk. Feel like you've not been yourself lately**

T: ✌️❤️

A:  **Tim...**

*

When Timmy wakes to his alarm, he groans and snoozes it. He takes a couple seconds to see the notification light blinking at him. With one eye open, he unlocks his phone and stares blearily at it. 

_ A bunch of messages from Armie.  _

A:  **Tim I know you'll be sleeping right now and I know I keep saying it but I am worried about you**

A:  **I feel like you just send me** ✌️❤️  **to end the conversation**

A:  **I know we've been texting but it feels odd that we haven't been talking much on the phone**

A:  **Are you okay? Have I done something wrong? Are we good?**

A:  **Whatever it is you can talk to me, I promise**

A:  **I kept assuming you were just bored by all the kid talk but things have still been quiet even since**

A:  **I'm just anxious, I guess. You're a good friend, Sweet Tea, and I don't want us to drift apart**

A:  **Anyway, sorry about this. I'm sure I'll regret it in the morning**

A:  **Please talk to me xx**

_ Fuck.  _ Timmy screws his fingers into his curls, twisting at them. He's fully awake now, with a precipitous kind of alertness.

He types slowly. 

T:  **if it's any consolation my parents are worried about me too**

T:  **idk armie. nothing is your fault. you're a great friend + i don't want us to drift either**

T:  **sorry i've been quiet. it's not about anything you've done**

T:  **it'll be easier when we see each other i guess. always makes a difference in person right?**

Armie sees the messages right away. 

_ He's up late.  _

A:  **You're such a ray of sunshine Tim. It worries me when you seem down**

A:  **You know none of my other friends send me recommendations of stuff to do with the kids**

A:  **Things like that matter**

Timmy scrubs his hand across his face and takes a breath.  _ You better hope you are good at acting, Chalamet. This weekend isn't going to be easy.  _

T:  **idk anything about kids though...but that doesn't mean i don't like hearing about them or want to be helpful**

A:  **You are. You have been. Shit, age 24 this stuff wasn't on my horizon at all. And it shouldn't really be on yours. Thanks for being a good enough friend to care.**

T:  **of course i do. they're part of you**

Timmy sighs, cursing himself.  _ Why do I always say such dumb shit.  _

T:  **i mean i always care about stuff you do**

T:  **except cigars**

A:  **Shit yeah I forgot about your cigar apathy**

A:  **We can't be friends anymore. Sorry**

T:  **i understand. guess i'll just avoid you guys this weekend**

A:  **For the best**

T:  **i mean i've put up with your baseball apathy for long enough too**

T:  **so**

A:  **I know we're joking Tim but I don't even like pretending we're not friends** 😂

T:  **that's ok. same**

T:  **shouldn't you be asleep**

A:  **I should. I have to be a functioning dad tomorrow**

T:  **sleep well armie** ✌️❤️

A:  **Have a good day, fucker** 👀🍆

Timmy can feel Armie's warmth, his kindness and humor and affection, creeping under his defenses again. 

_ It hurts. Every time, it hurts, and if I try and keep my distance it hurts him instead.  _

_ How much longer can I go on like this?  _

*

A:  **What time's your flight tomorrow, Tim?**

T:  **i'll arrive early on your friday but i have a bunch of meetings with brian so not free til saturday**

A:  **Sure you don't want to get dinner Friday night? I can get a sitter if you do**

T:  **sorry man, got dinner with brian + someone he wants me to meet**

A:  **I sense signings on the horizon!**

T:  **fingers crossed**

A:  **Tim, you'll be great. Stop doubting yourself**

T:  **thanks**

T:  **kind of at a loose end on set today. sunny here + i want to nap**

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **We did better at cookies this time. Your grandma's recipe is amazing**

T:  **look delicious** 👍

A:  **I'll try and make sure there's still one left for you when you visit**

T: ✌️❤️

A:  **…**

*

A:  **Hope the flight's good, Tim xx**

T:  **thanks** ✌️❤️

*

T:  **here. just changing at the hotel then...meetings**

A:  **Good luck xx**

*

A:  **How did it all go?**

T:  **good i think? maybe someone cool to work with**

_ So many reasons why we couldn't be together, Armie. I could never be the kind of parent figure you need for your kids. I'm too young and I travel all the time. _

T:  **russia, possibly, if we sign**

A:  **Wow! Told you you'd be great**

_ I'll be so far away from you.  _

T: 🙂 

T:  **h+f okay?**

A:  **[photo]**

A:  **Asleep now, but we went to the beach earlier. Harper's having actual surfing lessons now you know. All because of you**

T:  **you're not teaching her?**

A:  **No, better she learns all the safety etc. from someone qualified**

T:  **very cool** 🙂  **what time we meeting tomorrow?**

A:  **10? At the NHM...if you still want to see that dinosaur. The kids' drawing classes start at half past**

T:  **sure. front entrance?**

A:  **Yes...looking forward to it T**

T:  **me too. sleep well armie** ✌️❤️

A: 👀🍆

*

Timmy waits nervously outside the imposing Natural History Museum, left hand shoved in his jeans pocket, scrolling blankly through Instagram with his right. He's not absorbing the images but he keeps going because it allows him to bow his head, to pretend he's not frantically scanning his peripheral vision for a tall man and two blond kids. 

"Tim." 

_ I never should've stopped talking to him on the phone,  _ thinks Timmy wildly, because Armie's voice is a thousand times more beautiful than the pale version in his memory. He tries not to shiver with it, shoving his phone away in his pocket.

"Hey," he returns awkwardly, looking up, glad of being able to hide behind his sunglasses because everything is just a little too much: Harper holding Armie's hand, Ford on his arm even though he's so much bigger than Timmy remembers; Armie, sunglasses on, still so fucking huge every time, no matter how often Timmy sees him. The world tips off balance slightly, just for a second, leaving Timmy reeling.

Armie's hair is short, and Timmy wants to run his hand over it, already picturing how it would feel in his palm, on his fingertips. 

Harper's looking up at him from behind Armie's leg. 

"Hey," says Timmy again, squatting down to smile at her. "How you doing, Harper?"

She looks at him coolly for a second, and Timmy's heart sinks.  _ This is being around children 101, Chalamet. You can't even do this right.  _

"Hi," she says, at last. "Why didn't you come to the zoo with us?" 

Timmy can't help laughing, half relief, half amusement. 

Armie puts his huge hand on her head. "Hops. Rude." Timmy can hear him smiling.

Timmy can't look up. He just can't. He grins at Harper. "I was in Barcelona." 

"Where?"

"Spain."

She looks him over again, slowly. "I'm gonna learn to draw a dinosaur." 

He nods, smiles at her, and stands up. "Hi Ford," he says, to the small boy giving him an appraising look from Armie's arms. 

Ford turns his face away into Armie's neck, and doesn't look at Timmy again. 

Timmy bites his lip.  _ Ouch. Great. One of his kids hates me.  _

Armie clearly sees his expression. "Don't worry about it," he says, rubbing Ford's back. "He's a bit grouchy today." 

Timmy glances up at him with a lopsided smile, and there's a slow-motion moment where it looks like Armie's going to give him a one-armed hug—but then Harper's hands are in Timmy's, grabbing his attention. 

"Come on Timmy," she says, bossily. "We have to go in." She holds his hand all the way up the steps and into the museum. 

When Armie says they're there for the kids' drawing class, they're directed to the special dinosaur exhibition space that's been set up for the Berlin T-Rex. Harper tugs Timmy along at a pace, and Armie follows with Ford still in his arms.

_ I wonder if anyone would think we're a family.  _ The thought makes Timmy's cheeks heat with anxiety.  _ Would I correct them, or would Armie? He wouldn't want people thinking…that. Saying that in front of his kids.  _

They've set up the exhibition space so there are lots of smaller tables with drawing equipment in the centre of the room, and larger tables around the edges. It's right next to the café, and a few parents have already bought food and coffee and settled in.

Ford is fussy while Armie settles them at a table, and Timmy feels like his presence is making things worse, another unsettling factor. 

"You want a coffee?" he asks Armie awkwardly, standing up, pointing his chin at the café. He drops his backpack on the seat he'd briefly occupied. 

Armie's eyes are soft blue-grey in the museum light, darkly-circled beneath.  _ He looks like he hasn't been sleeping.  _

"Oh, please. Two-shot iced latte."

"Sure. Do Harper and Ford want anything?" Harper's already wandered off to the closest art table.

"Juice boxes please—apple and orange."

Timmy nods, still not looking Armie in the eye for long. He grabs his sunglasses off his head as he walks away, tucking them into the collar of his t-shirt. The plastic arm is cool against the center of his chest. 

_ This is too much. This is all too fucking much.  _

When Timmy returns, it seems at first like Ford isn't going to join in the art class. When Armie asks him if he wants to, he shakes his head emphatically and threatens to cry. 

"Which one does he have?" asks Timmy, holding up the juice boxes. 

"Orange. Boy after your heart."

Timmy takes his seat and smiles, poking the straw into the juice box. He holds it out to Armie, who hands it to Ford. 

As Ford starts drinking his orange juice, Timmy puts Armie's coffee in front of him and sips from his own, watching Harper as a way to avoid looking at Armie. She's already made friends with another little girl, and they're sharing crayons.

"Sorry—should I have got snacks?" he asks awkwardly, after a minute. "If the kids are hungry, I can—" 

Armie shakes his head, and smiles. "It's okay. I have some bits for them, and we can always get something at lunchtime. Believe me, they'll tell us when they're hungry."

Timmy nods, staring at the coffee cup in his hands. "Not like you to turn down food, Hammer." He says it quietly, cautiously. For some reason, trying to re-establish their old back-and-forth feels like an ache deep in his chest. 

He hears Armie laugh, softly. "Well. With these two I've been primarily living on cookies, so."

Timmy smiles lopsidedly. He can't resist glancing up, just for a second. Armie's easy tone of voice is given the lie by his slight frown, his worried eyes. Timmy wants to hug him; wants to leave. 

Timmy takes a breath, and a gulp of coffee.  _ Come on Chalamet. It's just one day. You can do this.  _ "So did you see any good scripts?" he meets Armie's gaze, keeping his expression open and friendly.

Slowly, Armie nods. "Yeah, some I was interested in. And I actually responded to all of Scott's emails for once. Not sure he quite knows what's hit him, now." 

Timmy grins. "Well. He'll have to crack on and get them for you then."

Armie laughs. "Ha. I'll have to crack on and audition, you mean."

Timmy half-shrugs. "Not for all of them, I'm sure." He looks away. "Harper and that other kid have already done about six drawings and the class hasn't even started." 

Armie grins. Next to him, a little boy with a shock of corkscrewing black hair comes to a diffident stop, looking up at Ford. Without saying anything, he holds out a pink chalk stick. 

Ford stares at it for a second, then reaches out and takes it. When the little boy takes a step back, he suddenly struggles to get off Armie's lap. 

"Okay," grins Armie as Ford and his new friend potter off to a nearby table. "Sorted." 

Timmy can't help laughing at the simplicity of it all.  _ Here's a chalk stick. Let's be friends.  _

"Not sure you're going to get to actually, you know,  _ see  _ dinosaurs sitting here," says Armie, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. "More like about twenty misshapen drawings of them. Go have a look around if you want."

Timmy shakes his head. "I'm good for now." He snorts a laugh under his breath. "And you can't call your kids' art  _ misshapen, _ Armie." 

Armie's grin shows his little vampire fangs. "Ha. Watch me. At least Hops isn't drawing the Eiffel Tower anymore."

Timmy looks over to where she and the other little girl are deep in serious debate over something or other. "Yeah that was...something."

"So you must be close to the end of filming, right?" 

Timmy nods, pinching at the fabric of his jeans over his knee. "Yeah. Got about ten days left, but it won't be my stuff most of the time." 

"So how is it? Working with Claire?" Armie's eyes are fixed on his, and Timmy can tell he's looking for enthusiasm.

"Yeah, yeah, she's great, man. Just, like—intimidatingly good at what she does, you know? Quite hands off, unless she thinks you've really gone wrong somewhere. Open to letting you try stuff."

Armie nods. "Well, she's always been on your list, right?" 

Timmy knows he hasn't sounded delighted enough to satisfy him.  _ Maybe something has changed,  _ he thinks.  _ Maybe I'm just not that excited about everything anymore. Maybe I'm just getting older.  _ "Yeah. And—she's great." It sounds stiff and unnatural, even to his own ears. He hates his awkwardness. Normally he and Armie would fill every second with conversation, make the most of every moment. Now there's something stopping Timmy from letting go, and he's relieved when Harper's hands appear on his knees. 

"Timmy! You want to do a drawing?" 

Timmy looks around for a teacher or class leader. "Am I allowed? Isn't your class starting soon?" 

Harper shrugs. "You want me to bring you some paper? What color pencils do you want?" 

Timmy grins. "Yellow and purple please." 

"I don't think there were any yellow and purple dinosaurs." 

"Artistic licence?" 

Harper gives him a look. "That's what daddy always says when he gets something wrong." 

"Hey, whoa," laughs Armie, leaning forward to tickle her in the ribs. "Nice drive-by, Hops." 

She giggles and clings to Timmy's knees, then runs off.

"I know this is that dumb thing people always say, but they've both grown so much. It's crazy." Timmy strokes the lid of his coffee cup with his thumb. "Can't remember the last time I actually saw them, not just on FaceTime."

Armie half-smiles. "When you stayed with—us, maybe." The tiny hesitation makes Timmy's heart hurt.

"God. Pretty sure I wasn't a great house guest then, either."

"You were hungry. And tired." Armie sighs. "That fucking movie."

Timmy's heart thumps. "I'm  _ fine,  _ dude."

"Yeah. Well. You weren't, though." Armie's expression is mulish, as it always is when he thinks about Felix. 

Timmy can't help smiling softly. He looks away. "You need to let it go, Armie. It's been like three years." 

"Hmm."

_ "Anyway. _ You been watching anything good lately?"

Armie laughs and rubs his eyes. "Literally just like, Postman Pat. Seriously."

"Huh. I'm beginning to think  _ you  _ might actually be the Postman Pat fan, Armie."

Armie narrows his eyes. "Shhh. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Have you—I mean, has  _ Ford _ —watched Fireman Sam?" 

Armie grins and kicks him lightly on the ankle. "No.  _ He  _ hasn't."

"And there's one with trains—" Timmy wrinkles his nose as he tries to remember.

"Thomas the Tank Engine?"

"No, no—I mean yeah, obviously, but a newer—uh…" Timmy googles it. "Chuggington," he grins. "I always ended up watching it on TF1 after getting home from being out in Paris."

"Never heard of it. Jesus, what time were you getting home?" 

Timmy grimaces. "Like...five, sometimes." He holds up his hands at Armie's expression. "Blame Pauli." 

"Christ. I'm officially too old for that shit." 

"Shut up. I've  _ seen _ you party, Hammer." 

Armie looks down as Ford barrels towards him. "Hey, what's up buddy?" 

But Ford just wants his juice, hand tangled tight in Armie's navy t-shirt as he drinks. When he's done he shoves the juice box into Armie's waiting hand and takes off again, rejoining his little friend at the table. 

Timmy laughs. "They're so...focused."

Armie snorts. "Yep. They pretty much tell you what they want. Or just take it." 

There's a woman at the centre of the room now, slowly getting the kids' attention, talking to the ones who are close, and looking around at the parents as she does so. 

Harper hurries over to push paper and a yellow and purple pencil into Timmy's hands. "I have to go," she says importantly when he thanks her, and he can't help another huff of laughter as she scampers away.

"You realise she's going to hold you to drawing a yellow and purple dinosaur." 

"I know. I'm gonna try. You want some paper?" 

Armie finishes his coffee and sits forward. "Sure." 

_ This ought to feel strange. Months of not seeing him, and now we're sat here with his kids, drawing dinosaurs.  _

Timmy watches the way Armie's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he leans over his phone, googling something. His heart aches.  _ I'm so in love with you, Armie.  _

_ I'm sorry.  _

When Armie starts to fold the sheet of paper, referring often to his phone, Timmy swallows, trying not to stare too hard at the deft movements of those elegant fingers. 

"I never thought of that," he sighs. "Can I just color in your origamisaur?"

"Ha. No way. Draw your own, like you promised Hops." 

Timmy rolls his eyes. He stares over at the T-Rex and starts to draw. 

There's silence between them, but it's more comfortable now.

"Fuck's sake, Chalamet, I should've known you'd be effortlessly good at drawing too."

Timmy looks at his paper and laughs. "Shut up, man. Talk about  _ misshapen. _ I mean, shit. Look at it." 

"You're ridiculous."

"It's a  _ dead  _ T-Rex though," says Timmy sadly. "I just drew the skeleton. Don't know how I'm going to make  _ that _ yellow and purple."

"Don't worry. The kids love the skeleton enemies in Mario," Armie grins.

"Dry Bones," corrects Timmy absently. He looks up and smiles at Armie's eyeroll. "Do they play Mario Kart yet?"

"Of course they do. What do you take me for?" 

"Ha. We'll have to have a tournament sometime. I'm sure you remember me absolutely crushing you. You must want to see if your practice has made a difference."

"Uh—not sure crushing me is  _ quite  _ how I'd put it, Chalamet…"

"Oh, Hammer. Just to warn you, I  _ do  _ have a Switch. I also practice."

"You're on. You're coming to see the apartment later, yeah?" Armie says it casually, but his eyes are fixed on Timmy's. 

"Oh, uh—well—" Timmy hesitates. 

"You're welcome," urges Armie quietly. "We can all hang out for a bit, then make dinner. I kept you back a cookie." 

Timmy's chest aches at the thought, a deep painful yearning to just chill with Armie the way they had in Crema—Netflix, and chopping vegetables for dinner, and opening a bottle of wine.

"If you're still talking to me after I beat you at Mario Kart, that is," Armie adds.

Timmy laughs. "You're deluded, Hammer, but—okay. Sounds good." He looks at his drawing. "I'm just gonna draw a yellow hat on it. The rest of it's purple. That'll have to do." 

"Just to warn you though, Hops is going to say you cheated." 

"Probably." Timmy does it anyway and pushes it across the table to Armie. 

He raises an eyebrow. "Thanks. I'll put it on the fridge." 

Timmy rolls his eyes. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry? I can go get us food."

"I know it's just because you're jealous of Ford's juice box."

"I—shut up," grins Timmy. Then, more awkwardly, "are they—are the kids allergic to anything? Or hate anything? You want me to…" he shrugs. "I can get whatever." 

"Ford'll prefer something plain, like if they just have cheese sandwiches or something? And Hops likes most things. She's even choking down salad, thanks to you. The other day she said she had to remember to tell you it also works with olives." 

Timmy grins. "Top tip." 

"They're not allergic to anything."

"Okay, cool. And uh—do you want—what do you…wait, do they need more juice, or…?" 

Armie shakes his head. His expression is strange, lips curved into a delicate smile. "It's good. Hops still has her juice and I have water for them too. And you know me, I'll eat anything." 

"More coffee?"

"Same again, please." 

Timmy drops his head, not sure how to deal with Armie's expression. "Cool. Well. I'll—be back in a bit." He digs his hands into his pockets as he walks away.

The café's getting busier as lunchtime approaches, and Timmy grabs what he thinks will work, orders the iced coffees and waits at the side. His fingers tap restlessly on the tray.  _ Maybe I shouldn't've agreed to go back to his,  _ he thinks. It adds acres of time together he hadn't prepared for: in the car, the kids in the back; playing with them in the afternoon; a Mario Kart competition; preparing dinner and eating with them.  _ Then he'll be busy getting them to bed. I can take off then, I'll just be in the way otherwise.  _ He jumps when his coffee order is called.

He steels himself as he walks slowly back to their table with the laden tray, trying to prepare for the onslaught of Armie's presence, his beauty, his kindness.

By the time he puts the tray down, Harper's holding Armie's hand and drinking her apple juice. 

She brandishes a drawing at Timmy. "Look!" 

He takes it, sits down in his chair, and looks at it properly. "Wow, Harper. That's awesome. Well done." 

"Evie helped me," she says, fairly. "She did the sky." 

The sky in the picture appears to be a terrifying fiery vortex. Timmy looks up at Armie, trying desperately not to laugh. Armie's no help, snorting quietly, eyes crinkled with amusement. 

"Uh—the sky—is that—" 

"The asteroid," says Harper, matter-of-factly.

"Oh—right. Cool," says Timmy, still fighting not to laugh. "Well, I'm sure your dad will want to put it on the fridge." 

"You want any food yet, Hops?" asks Armie. "Tim got us sandwiches."

She shrugs, then shakes her head. "Not yet, Daddy. I have more drawings to do." She takes another drink of juice, then puts it back on the table and wanders away. 

"It's kind of a bit more—Eye of Sauron, than asteroid?" says Timmy, grinning as he passes the drawing over to Armie. 

Armie snorts a laugh, shrugging. "Kids. Which of these sandwiches is yours? Starving now."

"I don't mind," says Timmy, awkwardness crashing back full force. "I'm good with whatever." 

Armie gives him a look. "Okay. I'll take BLT?" 

Timmy nods.  _ Of course you will. Because you know I love cream cheese bagels.  _

_ Why've you got to be like this, Armie?  _

He opens the pot of grapes he'd bought to go with his sandwich, catching the side-eye from Armie that he'd expected. "What?" he asks, trying not to grin. "I  _ love  _ grapes and cream cheese. Just because you're so persistently wrong about it, don't give me that look."

Armie laughs. "Good thing you got another pot. Ford would scream if he saw someone else eating grapes." 

"I mean—I'd share with your kid, Armie. I wouldn't just stare him in the eye and eat all the grapes."

"'S'what I do," says Armie around a mouthful of sandwich. His eyes are lively with amusement. 

"Oh shut up. You do not." Timmy scans the group of little kids for Ford and Harper, just checking. They both seem happy and engrossed. "So if they're like, super focused on something and you feel like they'll get grouchy if they don't eat, what do you do?" he asks, curiously. 

Armie gives him a warm smile. "I mean it's not like I'm dad of the year, Tim, but I just try and have the food ready for them the second they'll take it. And kind of brace myself for a tantrum until they feel it touch the sides."

Timmy laughs. "Right, okay. So tantrums are sort of inevitable?"

"Yup." Armie shrugs. "God, I've never found a way to stop them, anyway." He takes a sip of his iced coffee. "Oh, also, cutting the food up small so you can slip them bits if they run back over here." He pulls a couple plates over to himself and cuts Ford's sandwich into small triangles on one, and Harper's on the other. "They barely notice it going down, then."

"You've got all the tricks."

Armie smiles. "Sometimes. It's a bit easier with Ford because we—I've often seen the same stuff with Hops before. But she's always coming up with new ways to surprise me."

Timmy looks away, trying not to let his thoughts show on his face.  _ No matter who he's with, he'll always be 'we' with her. She has a bond no-one else can ever have with him.  _

_ Unless he has more kids with whichever woman he gets with. _

He takes another bite of bagel and chews it slowly, watching Harper and her little friend— _ Evie, was it? _ —giggling over their drawings. 

"So where are you going to be once you finish in Spain?" asks Armie. 

"Home for a few weeks," says Timmy, with relief. "Got a bunch of stuff to unpack and settle into my new place. I basically moved and left the next day, so everything's just sitting there, needing to be sorted." 

Armie nods. "You weren't back there when you went home for your grandma's birthday?" 

Timmy looks away again. "No." He swallows. "Just went h— to my parents' place. Needed to sleep and chill." He doesn't look up, remembering texting Armie:  _ if it's any consolation my parents are worried about me too.  _

_ Please don't ask me about it, Armie. Not here. Just—leave it alone. Please. _

"You didn't tell me you moved." Armie taps him on the ankle with his foot, a soft pretended kick. "Where is it?"

"Hell's Kitchen—" Timmy can't help laughing as Armie joins in and says the words with him. "Shut up. You knew it would be. It's just a bit—nicer. Bigger. Better lease terms." 

Armie gives him a lopsided smile. "Don't even know why I asked. You could never live anywhere else, could you?" His gaze drops, those long eyelashes stark against his cheeks. He puts his sandwich down, swallows, and reaches for his coffee instead. 

Timmy's heart sinks, though he's not quite sure why. He's just trying to find a response when Ford wanders over, clutching a drawing and looking tired. He holds it out to Armie, who deftly swaps it for a piece of cheese sandwich. 

"This is awesome, buddy." He rubs Ford's back. "Hey. How about you come sit with me for a minute, huh? Have some sandwich and juice?"

Ford wavers, clearly wanting to resist; but hunger wins out, and he allows himself to be lifted onto Armie's knee. He settles to working on the fragment of cheese sandwich that Armie had passed him. 

It's only a minute until Harper notices them all eating and comes over to join them. She takes the chair next to Timmy and happily accepts her sandwich and apple juice when he puts them in front of her. 

"Hey, Hops. Timmy's going to come hang out at ours for a bit after this."

She grins through a mouthful of sandwich. "Cool. He can use our mug."

"He can. We even have some Earl Grey, right?"

She nods, and turns to Timmy. "We bought it specially."

Timmy's heart squeezes. "Hey, thanks Harper. I loved the picture of the mug you guys painted."

"Are we going to watch a movie?" she asks. 

"Can do, if you want," says Armie. "Or we were talking about maybe some Mario Kart." 

"Timmy," she says, guilelessly, "can we watch  _ Frozen?"  _

Armie laughs knowingly, and Timmy looks up, confused. 

"Ban's still in force, Hops, even though Tim's here." 

Timmy looks at him quizzically.

"I just need a break from it." Armie shakes his head. "One day you'll understand." 

Harper pouts. "Mommy lets me watch _Frozen."_

"I know, sweetheart, but I need a break. For my sanity. You can still watch it with your earphones in. You watched it  _ yesterday _ with your earphones in."

She sighs theatrically and takes another triangle of sandwich. "Daddy?"

There's amusement in Armie's voice when he replies, "yes, sweetheart?" 

"Why did you and Mommy get divorced?"

Timmy's heart plummets. He stops chewing his mouthful of bagel for a second, then drops his gaze to his plate. 

Armie sounds calm. "We talked about it, remember? Mommy and I stopped loving each other the way we used to." 

Her voice is plaintive, though not distressed. "Why?" 

"It just happens, sometimes, Hops. For adults, for married people. We wanted different things in life. Moms and dads never stop loving their kids, though. Never."

Timmy watches Ford, who's absorbing the conversation silently. 

"But you said you'd always love Mommy." 

"I do love her, sweetheart. But it isn't the same as it used to be. There are lots of different kinds of love. It wasn't right for us to stay married when we'd both lost the kind of love that makes you  _ get _ married."

"So what kind of love is it now?" asks Harper curiously. 

"Like family," answers Armie calmly. "I love your mom like family, because we share you and we love you. Both of you." 

Harper seems to digest that answer. Timmy doesn't move. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears from his pounding heart. 

"But—" says Harper. "Does that mean you love someone  _ else  _ like you want to get married?" 

Timmy can hear the smile in Armie's voice. "You don't always have to be in that kind of love, Hops."

"Do you love  _ other  _ people?"

"Of course I do. I love you and Ford completely."

"I know  _ that, _ Daddy," she giggles. "I meant  _ other  _ people. Do you love...Timmy?" 

Timmy's stomach twists itself into a knot. His only coherent thought in the second between the question and the answer is  _ Fuck. This is going to hurt.  _

"Of course I do, sweetheart. We're friends."

She sighs, sounding slightly exasperated. "So is that a  _ different _ kind of love than with Mommy?" 

Armie hesitates. "Yes. Quite different." 

Timmy swallows and forces himself to catch Armie's eye. "Just gonna—" he mumbles, gesturing vaguely towards where he can see a sign for the bathroom. "Back in a minute." 

Armie's eyes desperately seek Timmy's as he turns away. 

Thank god, _thank god,_ Timmy makes it to the bathroom without anyone stopping him or asking for a selfie. He locks himself in a stall, puts the toilet seat down and slumps onto it, leaning his temple against the wall. And then tears come, silently, as he presses his lips viciously together against any sound. Four years of need and want and love pour down his face, and _I have to find a way to let this go. It hurts. It hurts too much._

_ Quite different. Quite different. Quite different.  _

Once the first storm of tears has passed, he takes deep breaths, trying to stop. Rubs his hands roughly under his eyes, across his cheeks, feeling the sting of the salt. Emerges cautiously from the stall when it seems relatively quiet; washes his hands in cold water and surreptitiously presses them to his eyes. 

_ Should I tell Armie I can't go back to his anymore? Something came up, maybe Brian called? I could go back to the hotel and sleep. Just sleep.  _

_ Would that be obvious though, on top of me flouncing off like an overwrought teenager just now? Fuck. I don't know. After this weekend I ought to cut contact with him, shouldn't I? It'd be easier.  _

_ I mean, not easier for him, but it also can't be easy being friends with someone who behaves like a pathetic kid all the time because they're in love with you.  _

_ Do I make him uncomfortable? _

He blushes at the thought of Armie trying to manage his expectations, manage his need for _ more, always more.  _ It's been a problem since the moment they met: Timmy's always wanted  _ more  _ of Armie, every minute, every word, every laugh, every smile, every frown. 

_ I need to fucking stop.  _

He keeps his eyes down as he makes his way back to the table.

Ford's refusing to eat the last piece of his sandwich, right up until Armie offers to eat it for him, and then suddenly he wants it again. 

Timmy takes his seat, using every bit of acting ability he has to appear fine as he forces down the rest of his bagel. He washes it down with coffee. 

He feels odd, disconnected. 

"Hey." Armie deliberately catches his eye. "We thought we'd walk through the megafauna display on the way out. Hops loves the giant sloth."

"Henry," corrects Harper. 

"Yes. Henry, apparently." 

"Can I hold your hand, Timmy?" she asks. Then, "there's a dodo, too."

Timmy can't help smiling at the abrupt swerves the conversation takes. His face feels cracked, achy with salt. "Sure." 

_ Say it now. Say, I'm sorry guys but my agent just called and he's set up an unexpected meeting. I gotta go.  _

He can't make himself say it. No matter how much he knows it will hurt him in the long run, being around Armie is a drug. He needs  _ more. _ He's had so little in the past few months—well, year really.

"What's the dodo called?" he asks, because he can't think of anything else to say.

"Hmm." Harper thinks about it. "Bella."

"Nice." Timmy gives her a smile. His eyes are tired, his head aching. 

Ford's finished his sandwich and his orange juice, and is grouchy about it. He starts to make discontented pre-crying noises. Armie takes him and Harper to the bathroom. 

Timmy buries himself in his phone, his automatic defense against eye contact and recognition. 

He's alerted to their return by Harper's hands on his knee and arm. "Henry?" she asks, taking his hand. 

Timmy smiles and puts his phone away. "Okay. Henry. You know the way?" 

She nods. "Daddy? Can Timmy and I go?" 

Armie's still packing things into his backpack one-handed, holding Ford. 

"You need any help?" asks Timmy awkwardly. 

Armie gives him a quick sideways smile. "I'm good. Hops, lead the way."

Harper drags Timmy fast across the exhibition space. They pause as they pass Evie's table, where she's sitting with her mom. Timmy gives her a quick, nervous smile while Harper gives Evie a little one-armed hug, but then they're on their way again. 

_ So weird,  _ thinks Timmy.  _ All these instant fast friendships—then she might never see Evie again.  _

Harper draws him to a halt in front of the Megatherium skeleton. Her eyes are wide. After a minute, she grins happily. "Do you like it?" she asks, looking up at him. 

He can't help grinning down at her. "I do. Thanks for showing me."

She tows him over to the information board in front of it. "Do you want to read it?" 

"She means she wants you to read it out," murmurs Armie, close to Timmy's ear. He must've come up with Ford while they were looking at the sloth. 

Timmy tries not to think about their proximity, tries not to want to lean back against him. He thinks about standing on this man's feet; about holding on to him, constantly, clinging to him for two months, trying to find a way through the turbulent emotions of being both Elio and Timmy in love. 

_ I shouldn't have clung to him. I should've distanced myself then, while I still could. _

_ Maybe I could have.  _

He squats down and reads the notice out to Harper. By the end of it she's leaning against his side, and has wrapped her arm around his neck. 

He's hesitant to return the affectionate gesture.  _ Someone else's kid after all.  _ He pats her awkwardly on the shoulder and stands up again. 

"Come on then, Hops." Armie says from behind them. "Let's go home. You can watch  _ Frozen  _ with your earphones in, if you really want to." 

She seems tired now. She holds Timmy's hand, feet dragging a little as they leave the museum and walk through the parking lot. 

"She won't, don't worry," says Armie, giving Timmy a smile. His eyes are hidden by his sunglasses again, and Timmy misses the way they crinkle in amusement, the fond happiness that lights them when he's with his kids. "The minute she sees us playing Mario Kart, she'll want to join in." 

Timmy takes the front passenger seat next to Armie. He has to laugh when Ford conks out, fast asleep in his seat before they've even left the parking lot. 

Armie shrugs and grins. "Yup."

"Jealous, man." 

"Ha. Have kids. I've been sleeping like the dead. Just not for long enough every night—thanks to these two." 

_ Who would I have kids with, Armie, huh? I need to find a way to fall in love with someone _ — _ anyone _ — _ else, first.  _

He tries to ignore how much he likes being driven by Armie, how much he enjoys his cool capability behind the wheel. 

"Daddy? Can we have my CD on?" 

Armie grimaces, stealing a sideways look at Timmy as they halt at a stop light. "You ready for this?" 

Timmy looks curiously at him. "What is it?" 

Armie laughs and hits the play button on the stereo."You'll see."

A horrendously jazzed-up version of Itsy Bitsy Spider fills the car, and in the back Harper starts doing the hand motions. 

"Oh my god." Timmy puts his hand across his mouth, trying to choke back laughter. "Jesus, Armie."

Armie gestures helplessness with his right hand, letting it fall back onto the wheel with a thud. "Three years, Tim," he murmurs. "She's had this CD for three  _ freaking  _ years."

Timmy snorts, turning his head away, trying to keep his amusement under control. His shoulders begin to shake as what appears to be a reggae version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star starts up. 

"How are they so  _ long?"  _ asks Timmy, after a while. "They were  _ never _ this long when I was a kid, right?"

Armie's voice is shaking with restrained laughter. "I think they wrote new verses." 

Timmy practically stuffs his hand in his mouth. He turns away again, still trying not to laugh. 

"Nearly home," says Harper, and Timmy's heart squeezes with amusement and affection; she'd used the pacifying, sing-song tones of an adult, clearly learned. 

When he looks over, Armie catches his eye and they share a smile. 

For a second—just for a second—Timmy allows himself to imagine them like this more often.  _ I could get better at this. I could help him more with the kids.  _

He turns to look out of the window again.  _ Stop it, you asshole. _

Armie's new apartment building is bright and white. Timmy comes round to Harper's side of the car and takes her hands to jump her out while Armie releases a just-woken—and annoyed—Ford from his seat. 

"Sorry he's cranky today," Armie sighs, as they walk towards the lobby. "I'm wondering if he's coming down with a cold. He's not normally like this." 

Timmy shakes his head, but doesn't get time to answer because Harper begs him to pick her up. 

"Hops, you're a bit big to—"

But Timmy's already jumped her up, settling her on his hip. She clings on around his neck, her small arms uncomfortably tight. Timmy doesn't mind. 

Armie checks his postbox on the way in, grabbing a couple letters out of it. He presses the button for the elevator even though it's only one floor. Timmy wonders if he would've just carried the kids up the stairs if he'd been on his own. 

_ Maybe he doesn't realise how much training I did for Dune.  _

The hallway of Armie's new building is quiet, light and bright. Timmy holds his hand out to take the letters while Armie juggles holding Ford and fishing in his pocket for the keys. 

Harper seems to regain energy as soon as Timmy puts her down just inside the door. She's about to race off to get something to show Timmy when Armie reminds her to take her shoes off first. 

Timmy pushes his own shoes off at the same time, and lays the letters on a side table.

"Come see my room, come see my room!" calls Harper, grabbing his hand again. 

"Hops, give him a minute—" protests Armie, but Timmy's already being towed away. 

It's a cute room, not the explosion of pink that Timmy had expected it to be. Harper shows him her favourite toys until Armie calls, "you want a drink, Tim?"

Harper jumps up, and runs to the door. "Tea, Daddy! He should have tea in his mug." 

After a minute, Armie appears in the doorway. His beauty is a physical shock, making Timmy's heart shudder. "You actually want tea?" he asks, with a lopsided smile, warmth in his gaze. 

"Sure." Timmy gets to his feet. "You going to show me the mug you painted, Harper?" 

She nods and runs ahead of him to the kitchen-living room. He follows, uncomfortably aware of the way he's using her as a shield against time alone with Armie.

_ I can get through this. I can. Just a few more hours.  _

The painting on the mug is cute and messy, and Timmy loves it. He kneels down to give Harper a hug, and says thank you to Ford too—he's quietly eating the segments of an orange on the sofa. 

Ford still doesn't smile at him. 

Armie brews Timmy's tea, and passes it to him once it's done. 

Timmy cradles the hot mug in his hands, enjoying the warmth. 

"You seriously cold?" asks Armie, half-shaking his head. He's wearing that smile that means  _ you're unbelievable, Chalamet.  _ It makes Timmy's heart hurt.

"Not—cold? Exactly. Just—glad of the warmth."

"Pretty sure you're a lizard. Or a cat."

"Well you're some kind of...polar bear." Timmy can't help the caution in his tone, still trying to find their old comfort with one another. 

Armie smiles, but Timmy can tell his gaze is watchful, perhaps a little worried. Timmy avoids meeting it. 

"I might try and get Ford down for a nap," Armie says quietly. "Hops? You want to watch some of your movie with your earphones?"

She accepts the cup of squash he passes her. "Are you going to read to Ford in his room?" she asks.

"Yes."

"So what's  _ Timmy  _ going to be doing?" she asks cautiously, as if worried she might miss out on something. 

"Whatever he wants, Hops. He's our guest." 

"Will you read to  _ me?" _ asks Harper, looking up at Timmy with wide brown eyes. 

Armie gives Timmy a laughingly-agonised look that means  _ you don't have to.  _

"'Course I will." Timmy smiles at her. "You want to fetch me a book?" 

She does a little happy-jump, and Armie steadies the cup, then takes it from her as she races off to her room.

"Sorry," he says, with a lopsided smile. "Think someone's got a crush." 

Timmy laughs awkwardly, dipping his head and tucking an unruly curl behind his ear. 

"Bet you anything she brings you  _ This Moose Belongs to Me,"  _ says Armie, turning to the sink again. "It's kind of too young for her now, but she loves it. I have to read it every night."

Timmy can't help grinning over at Armie when Harper puts the book in his hands.

Armie shrugs and mouthes  _ I told you so.  _

He scoops Ford from the couch and takes him out of the room, and Timmy and Harper settle on the sofa. She leans against his arm as he starts to read, giggling and occasionally pointing out when the text contradicts the pictures.

After a few pages she pulls his arm around her and lies against his side, tiny hand on his belly. She still giggles at the book, but more quietly now. When there's a particularly funny moose disobedience incident and she doesn't make a sound, Timmy looks down to check on her. She gasps a little waking noise, eyelashes fluttering, then pushes and pulls Timmy to lie down so she can put her head on his stomach. "Carry on," she demands, but it comes out as just a mumble. 

Timmy continues for another two pages, by which point she's snoring lightly, fingers twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt. 

He closes the book on his chest and wonders what to do. He can't get his phone out of his pocket with her snoozing on top of it. She's warm and heavy, and in the background there's the faint sound of Armie's voice. He can't make out any of the words, only a low, distant, comforting hum. He closes his eyes and listens to it, allowing himself to pretend that this feeling _ —safety, home— _ could last. 

When he wakes, he doesn't understand where he is for a minute. He's comfortable, and warm, and someone's holding onto him. There's the back of Armie's neck, his broad shoulders; he's leaning against the sofa next to him. Without thinking, Timmy stretches out his hand and strokes across Armie's shoulders. 

When Armie turns, there's a look in his eyes that Timmy can't understand. Then he smiles, easily, and it's gone. "Huh. Well  _ one _ of the sleeping beauties awakens." 

Timmy looks down and sees Harper. "Shit, sorry." Then,  _ "sorry.  _ Didn't mean to swear." 

Armie laughs, quietly. "It's fine. Reading to them usually puts me to sleep too. The number of times I've woken up leaning on Hopsey's bed." 

Timmy passes him the book. "I like the moose book."

"Wait 'til you've read it four thousand times." 

Timmy grins. It's nonsensical, but falling asleep on Armie's sofa has finally made him feel at home with him again.  _ I can do this. We're friends, and that's all it'll ever be. But if I can have some days like this with him, I'll survive.  _ "I see you're practicing to get crushed at Mario Kart again." 

"Go on Chalamet, keep talking a big game. You'll see."

"I mean, I would prove it but I'm being a pillow for your kid."

"Weak excuse. Here." Armie lifts Harper and moves her to the other end of the sofa, settling her with her head on a cushion.

Timmy tries not to gasp when the backs of Armie's hands and arms slide against his stomach and leg. He scrambles upright and stares at Harper with fascination. "Seriously? How did she not wake up?" 

Armie laughs. "Kids. They can sleep like they're trying to win a medal." 

"I'm so jealous."

"Tell me about it." He passes Timmy the second controller. "Ready to prove your grand claims?"

Timmy rolls his eyes. "Hammer, I think you've been playing on 50cc with your kids and have decided you're suddenly a Kart god." 

"Cheeky little fucker." Armie grabs his arm and pulls him down onto the floor next to him, back against the sofa. 

Timmy leans slightly against Armie's shoulder for a second. "Let's check the settings, huh?" 

Armie gives him a triumphant look when it shows the 150cc setting. 

"You want 200?" teases Timmy, and Armie pokes him in the side. 

"Let's work up to that."

Timmy gives him a soft, conspiratorial grin. "Thank god you said that."

Armie laughs. For a second their mock-rivalry is gone, and Armie's eyes crinkle so beautifully at the corners that Timmy wants to reach out and touch, or lean in and kiss them. 

Timmy takes a breath. "Which track do you want?" 

"Tick tock clock." Armie smiles, then checks in with Timmy. "Wait, you have the deluxe version, right? We need to keep this fair."

"Damn, Hammer. You  _ are  _ feeling confident."

“You know it.”

They both get the turbo start, and it’s really only between them from the beginning. Armie proves to be annoyingly good at using shells, but Timmy keeps a golden mushroom in reserve and speeds ahead over the finishing line at the last second. 

Armie groans, and smacks him lightly on the knee. “Best of three?”

“Fine. But it’s not going to go any better for you. Toad Harbor, Toad Harbor.”

Armie grins, and wins by a bike’s length. 

Timmy pokes him in the stomach with his elbow. “You’ve been practicing that one most of all, huh?”

Armie folds up over the place he was poked, laughing and shoving Timmy’s arm. “Have I shaken your confidence?”

“No, of course not. You’re an absolute asshole with those shells, though.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

Timmy rolls his eyes. “Just so you know, I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve.” He studies Armie’s expression. “Shit, I don’t know which one to pick now.  _ Shi—  _ uh—sugar, sorry! I didn’t mean to—” he looks round at Harper.

Armie laughs. “She’s well out. Don’t worry.”

The third race is a battle of the items, Timmy chasing Armie with a piranha plant on the front of his kart, biting him until Armie uses a bob-omb to throw him off course. Timmy obscures his vision with Blooper ink and speeds past, until Armie gets him with a particularly well-placed red shell. They’re both wheezing with laughter, and Armie growls as Timmy gets a fire flower and starts pelting him with fireballs. He elbows Timmy in the ribs and Timmy shoves him back. They finish the race pressed against one another, half-wrestling, and Armie hits Timmy with a blue shell at the last second. 

Timmy screeches furiously and drops his controller, turning to shove at Armie’s shoulders.  _ “Bastard,  _ oh my god—”

Armie’s dying laughing, and he grabs Timmy’s wrists. “Love that shell.”

“Bastard—”

“Language, Timothée. How  _ could  _ you, in front of my innocent daughter—”

Timmy shoves him again, though more gently this time. Armie’s hands still loosely hold his wrists. Timmy’s stomach suddenly knots itself, and he feels himself blush. 

“Tim.” Armie’s eyes are soft, now, and he lets go of Timmy’s wrists. He gently touches Timmy’s arm. “I never got a hug when we met.” There’s a flash of vulnerability across his face.

Timmy goes, of course he does, because he has no self-control where Armie’s concerned, burying his face in Armie’s neck, slipping his arms around his waist. And Armie’s breath catches, just a little, a sharp half-breath that sounds like relief as he pulls Timmy close—

“Daddy?” Harper’s voice is sleepy and curious. 

Timmy pulls back immediately, wrenching himself from Armie’s grasp. 

Armie gives Timmy a strange look, then turns to Harper. “Yes, Hops?”

“Are you playing Mario Kart? Can I play?”

Timmy relaxes slightly. He’s not sure why he reacted so strongly to Harper seeing them hugging. He feels raw,  _ obvious,  _ as if everyone around him must be able to read with ease the depth of his feelings for Armie. 

“’Course you can.” Armie passes her the controller. “You want to play against Tim?” She nods, happily. 

“What setting?” murmurs Timmy.

“Fifty,” returns Armie, and Timmy changes it as Armie reminds Harper of the controls. 

It’s so slow, and Timmy could win in a heartbeat if he tried; but he holds back on the items, while Armie encourages Harper to use hers, reminding her of what they do.

Harper wins by a length, and Armie and Timmy share a grin over her head as she punches the air. 

“Timmy, you should use your items,” she says concernedly, after the next race. “Do you know how to?” She shows him all the same things Armie just showed her, and Timmy mouthes  _ oh my god she’s so cute  _ to Armie.

_ I know,  _ he returns, grinning.  _ You can win sometimes,  _ he adds.

Timmy shrugs.  _ I will. Sometimes.  _

Harper giggles when Timmy fills her screen with Blooper ink. She manages to get him with a red shell in return, and Armie reminds her to use her golden mushroom just in time to win. 

Timmy hugs her. “You’re amazing at this Harper.”

She climbs into his lap. “Daddy, I want to play you now.” 

Timmy hands over his controller, trying to ignore the way his heart leaps when his fingers brush Armie's. 

“Not sure you’re ready for this Hops. You’ve been up against an inferior opponent, you know.”

Timmy shoves Armie in the shoulder, earning himself a flash of crinkled, laughing eyes.

Armie lets Harper win too, though teasing her by using a few more items and overtaking her more often than Timmy had.

Timmy high-fives her, and she giggles, then wants to do it again. 

Armie wins the next, by nowhere near as much as he would have if he'd really been pushing for it. 

Timmy watches Harper with curiosity, but she's just as delighted with Armie's win as with her own, high-fiving him too. 

"Can I watch you play?" she asks, handing the controller to Timmy, looking up at him from his lap.

Timmy checks in with Armie, a quick glance.

"'Course you can, Hops," Armie says. "Tim—you want to try 200cc?" His eyes are lively, full of fun. 

"Oh, man," Timmy groans. "I've only tried it a couple times. Please tell me you've not been practicing."

Armie laughs. "I really, actually haven't."

It's a mess from the start, both of them careering along, using their items almost blindly. 

By the end of the race—which Timmy just manages to win—all three of them are giggling wildly.

"Well done," says Armie, rubbing Timmy's shoulder. 

Timmy laughs. "That was pure, dumb luck." He smiles at Armie, heart turning a somersault at the unrestrained grin he gets in return. 

_ Oh, fuck. I love you when you're like this. So open, so happy. _

_ I love you all the time. _

"Daddy?" asks Harper. "Can I have a snack?" 

Armie's gaze is gone, then, and he smiles at his daughter. "Sure. What do you want?" 

"A cheese stick." 

Timmy wrinkles his nose in enquiry, looking to Armie for explanation.

Armie grins at him, briefly, then puts the controllers on the sofa and holds out his hand for Harper's. "Come on then." 

She holds her hand back. "I want  _ Timmy _ to take me." 

Armie laughs. "Okay." He gives Timmy a quick, apologetic look. "Come to the breakfast bar then."

"Up you get, Harper. Think my legs have gone to sleep," says Timmy, pretending not to be able to walk. She giggles and pokes them, then takes his hands to pull him up, a comical gesture from someone so small. 

They walk across the living room together, and Timmy boosts Harper up into a seat at the breakfast bar. 

Armie takes out a block of cheese, a knife and a small plate. "Tell me how much you want then, Hops." 

She cries "stop!" when he's reached an acceptable place, and he makes a cheese stick from it, then places it on the plate. 

"You want one?" he asks, grinning, as Timmy smiles at the obviously-ritual snack. "You're so skinny," he adds, with a soft look.

"Sure," Timmy shrugs, looking down at Harper. "Pretty sure she's onto something with this cheese stick situation."

Armie gets out another plate and makes him one, and Timmy looks at the fruit bowl. 

"Can I have an apple with it?" 

Armie washes it for him and throws it over. 

"An apple?" asks Harper. "With cheese?" 

Timmy nods. "Here." He holds it out. "Take a bite of the apple, and then a bite of the cheese together." 

Harper does, and then grins. "Yummy."

Timmy has the apple back and takes a bite from the other side, breaking off a bit of cheese to eat with it. "Mm-hmm."

Armie shakes his head, surveying them both with fondness.

_ Must be like having an extra kid in the house,  _ thinks Timmy, remembering all the jokes they'd made when he'd stayed with the Hammers for  _ Beautiful Boy  _ filming. 

_ Sitting in the back of the car with Harper and Ford while my parents drive.  _

He feels suddenly sick and stupid.  _ You've spent four years longing for him, and he sees you as just—some kid. He's your mentor. Don't forget it. Only unprofessional actors are dumb enough to mix up movie love and real love.  _

_ It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.  _

_ But maybe one day it'll stop.  _

"Can we have pasta for dinner, Daddy?" 

Armie laughs. "You  _ always _ want pasta for dinner."

"Not always…"

"Name the last time we didn't have pasta for dinner."

"When we went out with Uncle Nick." 

"Well that was a restaurant."

"I didn't have pasta." Harper looks imploringly at Timmy's apple, and he hands it over. She takes a little bite. 

Armie sighs. "Tim? You mind pasta for dinner?" 

"No. Sounds good. That's basically the only thing I cook for myself anyway, so." 

"Do you live on your own?" asks Harper, looking up at him and holding out the apple. 

Timmy takes it. "Yes." He shrugs. "But I'm not there much, because of filming."

"You don't have a girlfriend?" 

"Harper—" Armie sounds uncomfortable. 

"No." Timmy smiles at her. 

"Why not? You're very handsome." 

Timmy laughs awkwardly. "Thanks, Harper. I haven't met the right person yet."  _ Or I have met the right person, but he'd never want to be with me anyway. Oh, and he's your dad.  _

"You can be  _ my _ boyfriend if you want."

Timmy feels his cheeks heat. He grins. "I'm  _ way  _ too old for you. But thanks for the offer."

"Are you lonely?" 

Timmy shakes his head. "No. I have my family, and lots of good friends."

"Like Daddy?" 

"Yes." 

"Daddy lives on his own too. You could live together." 

"I live in New York though, remember?"

"Oh." She finishes her cheese stick. "Where do your mom and dad live?"

"In New York too, close to me."

"Where?" 

"Hell's Kitchen." 

"Hell's Kitchen." She rolls it around on her tongue. "It sounds bad."

Timmy smiles. "It's cool. I'll show you around, the next time you're in NYC."

"What vegetables do you want with your pasta, Hops?" 

"Eggplant."

"I'll do some zucchini too."

"I don't like zucchini."

"You liked them on Wednesday."

"I don't now."

"Tim. You like zucchini?" Armie's smiling with his mouth, but his eyes aren't full of their usual warmth. 

"Sure." Timmy hesitates, wondering if Armie's okay. He slides off the stool. "Let me help." He walks around to the sink and starts washing his hands. 

"It's fine—" Armie puts a hand on his arm to try and shoo him from the kitchen, but Timmy shakes his head stubbornly. 

"Honestly, I'd rather help. I like it. Haven't had a chance to cook in a while." 

Harper sighs, clearly losing interest a bit. Armie looks to her.

"You want to watch your movie now?" he asks, going to help her down from her seat. 

She nods and runs off to get the tablet, then settles on the sofa and puts her earphones in. 

"Of course, her wearing the earphones doesn't help with the fact she sings along the whole time," sighs Armie. 

Timmy laughs quietly. "You have garlic? Canned tomatoes? Chilli flakes?" 

Armie points him to the right cupboard. "Ford and Hops will just want theirs plain, with cheese and eggplant. Ford will probably have zucchini too, but Hops won't now she's decided she doesn't like it." 

"Cool. You want me to make the hot tomato sauce I usually make, for us? It takes like ten minutes. It'll be done quicker than the veg finishes roasting." 

Armie hesitates. "I mean, if you really want to, that'd be…" he shrugs. His smile still doesn't reach his eyes. 

Timmy tries to think back over the conversation.  _ It was just Harper asking me where I live, and where my parents live. It can't have been that.  _

_ Shit. Maybe he's sad because Harper pointed out he lives alone now.  _

Timmy's heart hurts with it.  _ I wonder if he really misses her.  _ He swallows hard against his jealousy, his love and misery. Thinks, really thinks, about Armie adjusting to being alone in a new apartment. Only seeing the kids he adores for part of the time. Missing the relationship that had been the major support of his adult life. He puts down the clove of garlic he's peeling and goes to where Armie's standing next to the oven, chopping zucchini into neat little rounds. 

Timmy slips his arms around Armie's waist from the side and hugs him, silently; and Armie turns into the embrace, letting the knife fall onto the chopping board. They stand like that quietly for long minutes, until their breathing synchronises, until Timmy's senses are full of the never-forgotten feeling of  _ Armie.  _

Once, Timmy feels Armie take a breath as if to say something; but he quells the impulse and their silent hug continues undisturbed. 

_ I love you. I wish I could make everything better for you.  _

Finally, Timmy squeezes Armie and lets go, giving him a quick smile before turning back to the garlic. He hopes his expression didn't betray how much finally holding Armie properly had meant, how much emotion had been stirred by the simple embrace. 

They work quietly, moving around one another to get the vegetables roasting and the sauce cooking. Occasionally Timmy asks where things are. In the background, Harper sings the entire soundtrack of  _ Frozen,  _ ever so slightly off-key. 

"Maybe I should get Hops singing lessons," murmurs Armie, after a while.

Timmy snorts. "She really watches it that much?" 

Armie gives him a beaten-down look tinged with humor. "Every. Single. Day." He sighs. "She loves  _ Moana  _ as well, but I love that movie so I'm not gonna let it get ruined." 

Timmy grins. "And the CD in the car…" 

_ "God," _ groans Armie. "It's like repetition doesn't bother them at all, you know? I think they find it comforting." 

Timmy shakes his head amusedly. "I don't feel like I have a right to judge, considering how many times I've watched  _ The Dark Knight."  _

"At least that's not a musical." 

"Imagine." Timmy giggles. "I'd 100% go to those singalong screenings."

"I know you would." Armie gives him a sideways smile. "Because you're ridiculous." 

"Says the man who's watched  _ Apocalypse Now  _ a million times. On the  _ plane.  _ As if plane journeys aren't depressing enough." 

Armie pokes him in the ribs. "Asshole." 

Timmy pokes back. "Connard." 

Armie opens the fridge and takes out the block of cheese again. "Oh, just grate the cheese, Chalamet."

"You grate  _ my _ cheese, Hammer." 

A fit of giggles overtakes them both, and by the end they're leaning on one another. 

"Daddy?" asks Harper from the sofa, sounding unsure of whether she ought to understand the joke.

"Yes, Hops?" asks Armie. He and Timmy are leaning back against the edge of the counter, their shoulders pressed together. Neither of them moves away. "Have you finished your movie?"

"No. What are you and Timmy laughing about?" 

They look at one another. Armie grins and turns back to Harper. "I'm not sure we know, sweetheart." He takes a breath. "I'm just happy to see him." 

Timmy's heart swells. He tries not to let his breathing betray what he's feeling. 

"Did you miss him?" asks Harper, curiously. 

There's a pause. "Very much," says Armie at last, not looking round at Timmy. 

She nods, and starts watching her movie again. 

Timmy huffs a laugh at the sheer simplicity with which Harper asks such difficult questions, and absorbs the answers. "Okay," he says, turning back around to start grating cheese. He swallows, keeping his eyes on his task. Hesitates. "I missed you too."

Armie fixes them all glasses of squash. "You want a beer, too?" 

Timmy turns tragic eyes on him, and Armie rolls his, with a smile.

"Vodka orange it is, then. Honestly, Tim. When are you going to learn to like beer?”

Timmy huffs a slight laugh. “We’ve been over this. You and I disagree on whether it’s important to like beer to be a man.” He says the last word with a gruff, macho growl.

Armie pinches Timmy’s side. “I’m not  _ saying  _ you have to like beer to be a man. Just that beer’s nice.”

Timmy wrinkles his nose. “Well I’d rather have my vodka OJ.”

Armie moves him slightly out of the way with a quick touch of his large hand to Timmy’s hip, then bends down to get ice from the freezer. 

They touch their drinks together, glass to bottle-neck, and take a sip. 

“Right. I’d better go wake Ford up, or he’ll be in full cranky mode while we eat dinner, and we’ll all have zucchini flung at us.”

“Who says I won't be doing that too?”

Armie laughs, and puts his beer down. “I mean, okay Chalamet. However you want to behave in someone’s house, I guess.”

Timmy heats a pan of water and checks on the vegetables, which are nearly done. His sauce was ready a while ago, so he just leaves it on a low heat. He sets the pasta cooking and finishes grating the cheese, listening to Harper’s off-key singing and the quiet murmur of Armie’s voice in the other room.

He takes a couple more gulps of vodka orange, trying to take the edge off his nerves about a dinnertime with Armie and his kids.  _ Just dinner, then he’ll want to put them to bed and I can take off.  _

He tries not to think about what  _ not  _ being around Armie will be like, after having this again for a few hours. It feels like a cold, dark space in his stomach.

Ford comes running into the kitchen-living room, then slows to a walk. He meanders over to Timmy and looks up at him, eyes wide. 

Timmy squats down. "Hey, Ford." 

He takes his time deciding whether to speak. "Hi."

"You ready for dinner?" 

Slowly, Ford nods. "Pasta?" 

Timmy hears Armie laughing from the doorway, but he doesn't say anything.

"Yeah. With eggplant and zucchini." 

"Cheese?"

"Yup." 

Armie picks Ford up, then, and carries him to his chair; taps Harper on the nose as he passes the sofa. "Dinner, Hops."

She sighs. "I'm watching, Daddy," she says, with such a world-weary tone that Timmy has to turn away, grinning as he takes the roasted vegetables out of the oven. 

He puts the tray down, realising that he has no idea about portion sizes for kids. "Uh—Armie—"

Armie's with him in a minute. "Oh, they have their own bowls," he says, showing Timmy the correct cupboard. "About this much for Hops, and  _ this _ much for Ford. Anyway, if you give them too much they usually kind of lose interest before they finish."

Timmy nods, feeling stupid, lost in the neverending details that life with children seems to entail.  _ Maybe he'll get together with someone who already has kids,  _ he thinks, following Armie to the table with two bowls. He takes the seat that Armie indicates, next to Harper.  _ Someone who already knows what she's doing.  _

"Daddy, you put zucchini on mine."

"One little piece, Hops."

"I don't  _ want _ it."

"Then don't eat it."

"I don't want it on my plate." 

"Hops, come on." Armie says it kindly, but firmly. "Eat it, or don't, but there's no harm in it being on your plate." 

She pouts, but nods when Timmy offers to sprinkle a handful of cheese over her dinner. 

Timmy watches the way Armie eats dinner: in fits and spurts, between helping Ford with his food, and keeping a wary eye on Harper too.  _ I'm not surprised he's so tired by the end of the day,  _ he thinks.  _ Imagine three meals a day alone like this. They're adorable but they need so much energy.  _

_ Not to mention the fact they used to have a live-in nanny. Guess she's not around anymore? Or—it kind of sounded like she still works for Elizabeth? Is it weird for the kids not having her here? Or maybe she comes by if Armie has to go somewhere short-notice? _

_ It's not like I can really ask him about this stuff. Maybe it was to do with money, after the divorce? There has to be some kind of settlement...and if you're legally married your spouse gets half your money?  _

"Tim?" Armie smiles at him. "You said you're nearly done in Barcelona, right?" 

"Sorry, uh—yeah. A few more days, but I'm not going to be shooting the whole time. I'll be around in case of pickups or whatever." 

Armie nods, attention darting to Harper. 

Timmy follows his look. She's eating the piece of zucchini with apparent relish. He looks back at Armie, and smiles.

"You done any sightseeing in Barcelona?"

Timmy shrugs. "Some. We did a tour thing in the first few days."

Armie's eyes watch him closely, and Timmy knows he's looking for more enthusiasm than he can muster. "And when you're home—got decoration to do? Or just unpacking?"

Timmy shakes his head. "It's just a rental. It's fine. It's painted white, so." He's shocked by the lack of interest in his own voice.  __

"Back to LA anytime?" asks Armie, with a sweet smile. His eyes express concern, though.

"Pretty sure I will be."  _ And I'll keep coming to see you Armie, I will, because I'm weak where you're concerned and I'll always want to be around you.  _

_ How the fuck am I supposed to get over you?  _

"Finished, Daddy." Harper drops her fork into her bowl with a clatter. 

"Well done, Hops. And Ford's nearly there, too—" Armie encourages a last forkful into Ford's mouth. 

"What's for dessert?" 

Armie smiles. "Pears."

"Pears and...ice cream?" asks Harper, with a grin.

"Very sneaky, young lady. Maybe. If you play your cards right."

Timmy forces down some more pasta, but he's too wired to eat much. He takes his own plate and Harper's to stack next to the sink, then busies himself with washing pears. 

Armie joins him, carrying the other bowls. "Tim...you didn't finish your dinner." His quiet murmur is full of concern. 

When Timmy looks up, he catches a glimpse of those grey-blue eyes, carrying the same expression they'd held back then, on  _ Beautiful Boy.  _

"I'm all good. Don't worry." He puts the pears into Armie's hands. "Freezer was...here, right?" 

Armie sighs, and nods. "Yep. Better bring a peeler, too. Hops won't eat hers with the skin on." He collects a pile of bowls, balancing the four pears in the top one and starting back to the table. 

Timmy follows him with a tub of hazelnut ice cream, a peeler for the pears, and a plate for the peelings. He discovers that Harper likes her pears cut in a particular way, and that Ford always wants more ice cream than he's allowed, leading to a minor argument every time. 

"You wouldn't even finish it, buddy," says Armie equably. 

Timmy finishes his pear and a scoop of the ice cream, listening to Harper and Armie debate whether they can go to a particular burger place for lunch before her surfing lesson the next day.

"You'll be sick, Hops. We can go after, if you're not too tired. At least it's not pasta," adds Armie, under his breath, catching Timmy's eye. 

"Can you surf, Timmy?" asks Harper.

"I had to learn a bit for work. But I'm not very good. Can barely stand up." 

"You should come to lessons with me."

Timmy smiles at the idea of himself and a bunch of six year olds learning to surf. "Thanks."

"Or Daddy's good at surfing. He could teach you."

Timmy thinks about that for all of one second—Armie, in swim trunks, correcting his posture on the board and demonstrating how to ride the waves—then shuts that topic out of his brain as best he can. The idea makes him vaguely breathless. "I don't think he's got time, Harper. But it's a good idea." 

"Hey, if you want to learn…" Armie shrugs. "But you'll have to come hang out in LA more. Inconvenient lack of surf in New York."

Timmy can't help smiling at him. "The  _ one _ thing my city doesn't have."

"Right." Armie looks to Ford, helping him with a spoonful of ice cream. He's biting his lip as he watches his son.

Once again, Timmy has the impression he's lost his footing in the conversation, lost the thread of Armie's thoughts. 

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Hops."

"Can Timmy read me my story?" 

Timmy checks the time on his phone. He realises it's turning to evening fast.  _ I should get out of here.  _

"Little while before bedtime yet," returns Armie, tipping his wrist to look at his watch. 

_ His wrists. I wish I could kiss them.  _

"Ford, you want to play a bit of Mario Kart?" asks Armie, wiping Ford's face with a napkin. 

Ford shakes his head. "Captain Toad," he says, plaintively. 

"Oh." Armie looks up at Timmy. "Have you played it? We're only a few levels in. They love it, but it's just a puzzle game so we kind of have to trade off the controller and take turns." 

Timmy shakes his head.  _ I could stay a little bit longer. Just until Armie's going to put them to bed. That was what I said, so. Just until then.  _ "Sounds fun."

As they clear the bowls and start stacking them in the dishwasher, Armie murmurs, "I think the later levels are going to really step up in difficulty so it'll mostly be me playing and them watching? So I'm letting them lead on the early ones and just helping them if there's anything really tough. They sometimes need help if there's a difficult move, and they love it if you test their ideas, even if you know it's not going to work."

Timmy puts a glass in the dishwasher. "I don't need to play," he says awkwardly. "Honestly, I'm good to just watch." 

Armie gives him an amused, slightly perplexed look. "They'll want you to."

"Harper might. Don't think Ford's that keen," says Timmy, biting his bottom lip. 

This time, Armie laughs. "Ford's  _ always _ reserved with new people. And he was too little when you came to stay. He doesn't remember you." He pushes the dishwasher shut and touches Timmy lightly on the arm. "Stop worrying."

Timmy half-shrugs. "I'm not  _ worrying.  _ I just—don't want to be in the way, or—" 

"You  _ are _ worrying. I can see it. But stop. And have another drink." 

Timmy accepts another vodka orange, and Armie opens another beer. 

Captain Toad is fun, and the kids mostly play, though sometimes they need help with certain sections of levels when there are particularly fast-moving enemies or difficult-to-time jumps. Timmy flops theatrically onto the floor in despair after falling off the side of a 3D level for the second time, and Ford giggles and pats him on the head.

After about half an hour it's clear they're getting tired. Harper loses her temper with Ford for being slow, and Armie has to talk her into apologising. 

"Come on then kiddos. Let's get into pyjamas and do our teeth, okay?"

Harper threatens to cry, clinging onto Timmy's arm. "I don't  _ want  _ to go to bed." 

"It's okay, Hops. We're just getting into pyjamas. Then didn't you want Timmy to read to you?" Armie catches Timmy's eye and mouthes  _ sorry  _ over Harper's head.

Slowly, she nods. 

"I can do that," says Timmy equably.  _ Okay, I can leave right after I've read Harper to sleep. It's practically the same thing.  _

Armie takes the kids off to the bathroom, and Timmy starts washing up the things that couldn't go in the dishwasher. He's full of nervous energy, feeling awkward and edgy. 

"Hey, whoa," says Armie from the doorway, at the same time as Harper barrels towards Timmy and wraps her arms around his waist. "You shouldn't be washing up." He's holding Ford, who's now wearing pyjamas. 

Timmy turns around to take Harper's hands. He shrugs. "It's fine. I wanted something to do." He looks to Harper. "You want to finish your moose book?" She nods emphatically, and pulls him away to her bedroom. 

In the end, she makes him start the moose book again, and falls asleep just two pages later than she had the first time. Timmy looks up to find Armie watching him from the doorway.

"Has she ever heard the  _ end  _ of this book?" he asks, in a whisper.

Armie grins. "Much less than the start, for sure." 

"Did Ford fall asleep already?"

"Out like a light." 

Timmy gets up and follows Armie out of Harper's room. "But he had a nap right before dinner." 

"Doesn't matter. Seriously."

Timmy's heart sinks. They're in the kitchen again, and Armie's reaching for a dishtowel to dry up the things he'd washed.  _ Guess I'd better order an Uber.  _

His words come out too fast when he speaks. "So—thank you for today, it's been really fun but I guess I better order a ride...got to fly back tomorrow and I have a bunch of work to do, so—"

Armie drops the dishtowel on the counter and turns to look at him. "Tim. It's like 7pm. Don't go yet." He looks surprised and worried.

Timmy swallows. His heart hurts with it all: with being near Armie, with having to leave him, with his cute kids and with the impossibility of being anything that Armie might need. 

He doesn't know what to say.

"Tim, please. Come sit. Finish your drink. Talk to me."

_ I can't talk to you. You're exactly the person I can't talk to.  _

Slowly, he follows Armie to the sofa; accepts his vodka orange, until it's whisked out of his hand again. 

"Ice," Armie mutters, going back to the kitchen.

_ He's nervous.  _

Timmy's reactions to everything feel strangely muted. 

When Armie returns, he takes a seat at the other end of the sofa, turning towards Timmy. 

There's a silence.

"Tim…" Armie sighs. "What's going on? I know you said I haven't done anything wrong, but...we've barely been talking, compared to usual. Please tell me. I'll just listen, I swear."

"I'm not...I  _ swear,  _ Armie, you haven't done anything wrong. I'm just—I'm just tired."

"It's—I've  _ seen _ you tired, Tim. I mean fuck, we were all exhausted on the promo tour. You still lit up with enthusiasm, though. I haven't—I haven't seen you like this." 

Timmy shakes his head, staring down at his hands around the glass. Eventually, he shrugs. "I'm fine. Maybe I'm just not...I guess I've done a few projects now. Can see it as work. Separate myself. I don't know." He looks away. 

"And keeping up with me is work?" Armie says. He sounds almost breathless; not reproachful, just shocked.

Timmy's head snaps round. "I didn't—I wasn't—" his chest is tight with the pain of it, with the reflected agony he sees in Armie's eyes. "I try, Armie. As best I can." 

"Don't feel like you have to send me recommendations for the kids," says Armie quietly. "It's—it's nice of you but it must take time, I know that." 

"Fuck," mutters Timmy. "I wasn't saying you're not worth my time, Armie. I  _ like _ finding—I—I just wanted you to know I think about you, you know? All of you. Them too. I'm just...sometimes it's too—much, to talk on the phone. So. Texting's good. I'm sorry." 

"Tim...I just...what's  _ changed?  _ We used to talk all the time." 

Timmy has no idea what to say.  _ I'm in love with you and it hurts too much. There. Happy? Now you won't want to talk to me. So, problem solved.  _

"It's okay. It's okay. I'm sorry. We'll talk more."

"No—" Armie leans forward, touches Timmy's arm; stops, clearly trying to master the frustration in his voice. "You're just—you're just telling me what you think I want to hear, not actually talking to me." 

Timmy's hands are shaking. He puts his glass down on the coffee table. "Okay. Okay." He makes a despairing gesture. "It's—fine, Armie. I don't know what else to—" he takes a shaky breath. "I—sometimes it's just—difficult, okay? I miss you a lot. And sometimes FaceTiming makes it worse, not better. I know that probably sounds dumb, but—" he shrugs. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry if it's been bad." He risks a glance at Armie.

His expression is raw, a mixture of hurt and fear and compassion. 

"Tim. I miss you so much too. Painfully. All the time. When you hugged me, earlier...that was the first time in months I felt  _ right."  _

Timmy's chest hurts with the pressure of suppressed emotion, suppressed words. He stares fixedly at his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry, Armie."

"Shit. What the hell are you sorry for." Armie's voice is rough, and Timmy doesn't dare look up at him. "Here. Come here." Armie reaches out and pulls him close.

It's a clumsy, awkward, badly-angled hug; but slowly it changes, and Armie moves them until Timmy's tucked against his side, head resting on his shoulder. 

"I think…" Armie stops again. His voice sounds tight with nerves. "Don't you think—a lot of our problems communicating are to do with feeling shit about being apart?" 

Slowly, Timmy nods. "For—for me, anyway," he says, in a small voice. 

Armie takes a breath. "Could we try and do something about that?" he asks, in a rush, as if daring himself. "Try and—see each other more? In person, I mean." 

Timmy looks at him, surprised. "You're busy with the kids and everything. You won't be able to travel much, outside work. And I don't want to be...I mean, they must really value their time with you. I don't want to...I don't know. Intrude, or whatever." He takes a breath. "And—fuck. I don't know, Armie. You know what I've always been like, with you. When you give me your time, no matter how much, I'd always take more. It makes things—it can be...difficult. Too much."  _ Please just understand, Armie, without making me say it. Please just accept that I can't. I can't do this without making a fool of myself.  _

There's a long, silent pause. Armie's voice is constricted when he answers. "I don't see how it can be difficult, when I  _ want _ you to take up as much time as I have." 

Suddenly, Timmy's tired; so goddamn tired. "I think we mean it in different ways." His heart is beating so loud that all he can hear is the thump of blood in his ears. 

_ Quite different.  _

"How do you—what do you mean?" 

"It's difficult for me because I don't feel the same way about you as you do about me. And that—it can be hard. It can—hurt." He tries to govern his voice, to stop it shaking. "Spending time with you is—is wonderful, but it's hard, too. Because it ends, and because it leaves me wanting more. And—" it feels as though he can't draw breath, his lungs screaming. "I don't want to fuck up the best friendship I ever had." 

"Tim, please. I don't understand." Armie's voice is small. He pulls Timmy to face him; tries to find his gaze.  _ "Please."  _

Timmy sighs. He's tired, and quite calm, suddenly. He knows without doubt he's going to tell him; and the responsibility, the fear is gone.  _ Let him decide if he still wants to see me. Maybe it'll be healthier all round if he doesn't.  _

"I—still have feelings for you. The wrong kind of feelings, I mean. I know it's fucking unprofessional, and stupid, but I just—after Crema, I never really got over it. Even though everything we did was for the cameras, I…" he shrugs. He doesn't look up. "I don't want it to affect our friendship, I really don't. But—sometimes it hurts less to have less, you know? To not see you, not hear you. Because it's—a lot, when I do. And—and I'm sorry. I know this is uncomfortable, and fuck—" his breath catches, and he has to fight not to let tears come. "I wish I could stop, Armie, I do. With—with the divorce and everything you need good friends right now, and I want to be that, I want to be your friend—support you, I mean—and I want to help with the kids if I can but I don't know anything about them or how to be around them, and I know none of this helps—" 

"Don't, please." Armie's voice is strangled-sounding.

Timmy shuts up immediately, staring down at the fabric of the sofa. 

"Tim—fuck. Look at me." 

Slowly, reluctantly, Timmy meets his eyes. 

"Please don't stop." Armie looks desperately determined, his blue eyes fierce. "Please don't try and stop those feelings, Tim. It'd be—inconvenient." 

Timmy just blinks at him. 

"I never stopped either. I—couldn't. After Crema." The words come jerkily, slowly. "I didn't—I had no idea."

"But I'm not—I can't be some kind of parent, Armie, I'm—" Timmy says, at top speed. He can't even absorb what he's been told. 

Armie blinks, and then huffs a laugh. "Chalamet. Can you please—how many steps did you just skip, right there?" 

Timmy stares at him for a second; and then he can't help a small smile of his own. He shrugs, awkwardly. "Are you...are you saying you...like me too?" 

Armie sighs; bites his lip. "I've been in love with you for years." 

"But—but don't you want someone who can be—I mean, Harper and Ford—"

"Don't  _ you  _ want someone who's not ten years older than you? Someone without kids? Without two tons of emotional baggage?" 

They stare at one another. 

"I want  _ you," _ says Timmy at last, in a small voice. 

"I want you too." Armie takes a breath. "And I think you may be overthinking the fact I have kids. There are a lot of things we need to figure out before you'd even have to  _ think _ about being some kind of...parent-figure to them." He swallows. "Like the fact that you love New York like life itself, and it'll be rare for me to be able to bring the kids there. Most of my time will be spent with them, when I'm not working." 

Timmy feels dizzy. "I can just travel more," he says quietly. "I'm hardly in the city anyway. I'll just come to LA more." 

Armie puts his hand tentatively on Timmy's arm. "I'm not sure I want you to. NYC's like—a part of you." 

"So are you." Timmy only understands that he's said the words out loud when he sees Armie's expression: surprise and a deep, satisfied want. 

"Tim…" Armie takes a shaky breath. "You really want this?" 

Timmy can feel emotion welling in him; he's not sure if it will emerge as a laugh or a sob. He leans in and presses his face to Armie's shoulder. "I've been in love with you for years too." It feels important to say it back. 

Armie's hand settles softly in the centre of his back. It feels like he's restraining himself. "There's a difference between that and wanting a long-distance relationship that includes someone's kids." 

"Anything. Yes. Everything. Please." 

They breathe together for a few minutes. 

"I think one of the steps you skipped was actually kissing me, Tim." Timmy can hear the smile in his voice. 

Timmy pulls back and looks at him. "Can't believe you're making fun of me." 

Armie grins; that unrestrained glow that lights his whole face. "I think you  _ can _ believe. I do it plenty." 

Timmy rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Thanks." He shifts, pulling his feet up on the sofa so that he's facing Armie. He reaches out and places his hand on Armie's cheek. "You sure?" 

"So fucking sure." 

"'Cause we haven't done anything yet that—"

"Tim." Armie turns his head and kisses his palm. "Timmy…" he cradles Timmy's hand in his own; kisses the base of his thumb, the heel of his hand, the thin skin at his wrist. "Tell me when I've crossed the line we can't go back from, hmm?" he murmurs, eyes mischievous. 

Timmy seems to see it in glimpses: Armie's lips bright pink against his pale wrist; his eyes dark blue, full of need; his eyelashes long and delicate against his cheeks. 

_ Fuck it.  _

He takes back his hand, and runs his fingers along Armie's jawline. Touches his lips with his thumb. Kisses him with feather-light pressure.

Armie makes a soft noise in his throat, but doesn't move; as if he's waiting for Timmy to stop, to change his mind. 

Timmy puts his hand on Armie's neck and shuffles closer, kissing him a little harder. And then Armie's arms come round him and the tip over into  _ more, yes, more  _ is slow, steady—

Timmy pulls at Armie's shoulders, urging him to lie down. They arrange themselves on the sofa, kissing all the time, smiling and gasping at a bite or an unexpected lick. Timmy's pressed against the back cushions, luxuriating in the feeling of Armie against him, the body he's missed. 

"You're an idiot," murmurs Armie, after a while. 

"Hey, whoa," mumbles Timmy, kissing the corner of Armie's mouth. "That's charming."

Armie grins and chuckles. "I meant, you should've just told me."

Timmy kisses his chin. "You could've told  _ me."  _

"You can't blame me. I didn't want to be the old dude preying on a twenty-four year old."

Timmy rolls his eyes. "Well I didn't want to be the stupid ingénu actor hanging around his older co-star being a nuisance. I already felt like I was bothering you too much as friends most of the time, so." 

"Oh, Tim." Armie hugs him close. "You really  _ are  _ an idiot." 

Timmy smacks him gently on the shoulder. "Asshole." 

Armie kisses him, harder this time. "Tell me you'll stay over." 

Timmy takes a shivery breath. "I—with Harper and Ford here? You don't mind? I could sneak out early, I guess—"

Armie gives him a look. "Tim. I mean, it's your choice, but—" he sighs. "I want this to be something that lasts." 

Suddenly sober, Timmy nods. "I—I do too. I just—won't they be upset? Won't they—uh...tell Elizabeth?" he swallows, hating himself for saying it. 

Armie puts his hand softly on Timmy's cheek. "And?" 

"I don't know, I just—figured you might not want her to know." 

Armie shrugs. "Pretty sure she knows how I feel about you. We argued about it enough."

Timmy blinks. "Oh shit, Armie."

"Believe me, Tim. It was just one of many, many fights." 

"But—oh, fuck. I'm so sorry."

Armie's expression is gentle. "Maybe I shouldn't've told you. But believe me, it wasn't about you. I didn't want the same life she did. I wanted—" he takes a breath. "I wanted to feel the same way you and Luca made me feel. About acting. About...what life should be. Our goals. Who I want to be. How I want my kids to see me." 

Slowly, Timmy nods. "Can I tell you a secret?" 

"Of course."

"I want to hear you speak about your acting the way you did right after  _ Call Me.  _ Like it's something important, something that  _ matters.  _ Because it  _ does. _ You're incredible, Armie. And I know you'll say I'm biased, but you are. I want you to believe it. It—it was like you did, for a while. But then that seemed to kind of—ebb away." 

Armie traces the line of Timmy's jaw with one long finger. "I know," he says, at last. Then, "it's your choice about when, like I say, but I want the kids to know eventually. I'm—I mean, I can't quite believe it's real, but I'm so fucking proud of you. Of—this. Knowing that you feel the same." 

Timmy can feel himself flushing with pleasure. "Okay," he whispers. "As long as we're not handsy with one another in the morning I guess they won't really understand, anyway?" 

"Yeah, they really won't." Armie bites his bottom lip. "By the way, I wasn't—I'm not, uh, saying we have to…" his cheeks are tinged with pink. "I just want you  _ here. _ I've missed you so fucking much." 

Timmy presses his face to Armie's neck. "Please may I use your toothbrush?" 

Armie chuckles, and kisses his temple. "Your brain, Chalamet. Yes. Yes you may." 

"Can we...go to bed?" Timmy knows he's blushing hard. 

Armie swallows. "Of course." After a short hesitation, "there's no pressure." 

"I know." Timmy kisses Armie's jaw, getting lost in the tingling drag of stubble across his lips. It makes a slow shiver run through him.

It takes them a long time to get to the bedroom, kissing, losing time, absorbed in one another. Timmy adores Armie's height, adores being held close, and pushing up on tiptoes to be kissed. 

When they finally close the bedroom door behind them, Armie sweeps a hand grandly towards the ensuite bathroom. "Do feel free to use the toothbrush first." He grins and sits down on the edge of the bed. 

Timmy uses the toilet and brushes his teeth. He looks at himself in the mirror: hectic cheeks, bitten-red lips, curls in disarray. His lips curve into an unstoppable grin, happiness spreading through every corner of his body. He feels too small to contain it all. 

When he emerges, Armie's lying back on the bed, feet on the floor, both hands in his hair. He sits up when Timmy comes to stand between his legs.

"You okay?" asks Timmy, worry suffusing the warm, golden joy he's filled with. 

"I'm good." Armie shakes his head wonderingly. "I was just convincing myself it wasn't real." He lifts Timmy's hands to his lips, and kisses them. "But here you are." 

Timmy nods. "Here I am." 

Armie kisses his palms, his wrists, the insides of his elbows. "'M'going to use the bathroom," he mumbles, breathing Timmy in. "Promise." 

Timmy giggles quietly, and takes his hands back, hiding them behind him. "Go on then." 

Armie puts his hands on Timmy's hips, and grins. "You think that's going to stop me kissing everything in sight, Chalamet?" He flips up the hem of Timmy's t-shirt and starts kissing his stomach. 

Timmy combs his hands through Armie's short hair, trying not to think about how close to his already-hard cock Armie's lips are. "You realise you're going to have to find me pyjamas?" he smiles. "I get  _ very  _ cold in bed." 

Armie looks up at him, eyes full of fond disbelief. "You're in LA in  _ summer.  _ You really need pyjamas?" 

"You have air conditioning," protests Timmy. 

Armie laughs, resting his forehead against Timmy's belly. "Well I don't own any pyjamas. But I can give you some workout gear, if you really, genuinely want to wear sweats in bed, in LA, in summer." 

Timmy caresses Armie's shoulders. He wants to see them; they're just solid muscle beneath his palms. "Well I don't know if you're cuddly or not," he says, and he's surprised by how vulnerable it sounds. 

Armie looks up, eyes full of emotion. "You can sleep on top of me, if you want." 

"You might regret saying that."

Armie smiles, and stands up, pulling Timmy close for a brief kiss. "Unlikely." He shuts himself in the bathroom. 

Timmy bites his bottom lip and does an Elio-spin, dropping back onto the bed. He has a million thoughts, and none; all fractured, dancing like spinning lights on the ceiling of a club. Through it all is:  _ Armie. Armie wants me. Armie's in love with me.  _

When the bathroom door opens, Armie grins at him and opens his wardrobe; rummages in a drawer. He tosses some grey sweatpants and a soft black t-shirt at Timmy. "Just in case," he says. 

Timmy hugs them. "These are going to be massive." He bites his lip. "Wait. Turn your back." 

Armie laughs, but turns. 

Timmy scrambles out of his own clothes and into the getup, pulling the drawstring tight on the sweats. Then he steps up behind Armie and wraps his arms around his waist. "There. Ready." 

Armie turns and kisses him, hand sliding along Timmy's jaw to cup his cheek. "Afraid I don't wear anything but boxers to sleep," he murmurs. "I run hot." 

Timmy shivers, arousal a sharp flash low in his belly. "I figured." Tentatively, he touches Armie's sides; takes the edges of the hem of his t-shirt.  _ Yes?  _ he asks, with his eyes. 

Armie raises his arms, helping the t-shirt on its way to the floor. 

Timmy's fingers shake as he slowly unbuckles Armie's belt, and works his fly open. Armie's hand still lies against Timmy's cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing across his lips. 

Timmy pushes Armie's pants down, carefully leaving him his boxers, and Armie steps out of them. Taking his hand, Timmy pulls him to the bed. 

His heart is pounding.  _ He's hard. He's hard too. He wants me.  _

Timmy climbs under the duvet and pulls Armie close, then turns him over. "Need to see your shoulders. They feel like a work of fucking art." 

Armie chuckles. "You're ridiculous." But his breath catches when Timmy starts to knead and kiss his shoulders. 

"Oh my god, Armie." Timmy bites softly at his shoulderblades, then starts to brush kisses down the hard trail of his spine. "You have so much muscle right now." 

Armie huffs amusement. "You prefer it? Or skinny Oliver-style?" 

Timmy frowns, though he knows Armie can't see him. The question doesn't make sense. "I don't think I really prefer anything? It's all still you."

Armie sighs. "You didn't even mean that to be romantic, did you?" 

Timmy kisses the sharp grooves on Armie's lower back, either side of his spine. "I love  _ these, _ if that helps."

"Oh good. Then the gym was worth it." His voice is full of a smile. 

Timmy kisses across Armie's back, just above the waistband of his boxers; finding places that make him gasp, that make him giggle and squirm. Finally he pushes at Armie, urging him to turn on his side. He flops down on the bed to face him. They share a pillow.

Armie touches his chin. "You wearing my gym kit in bed shouldn't be  _ this _ hot. Pretty sure there's something wrong with me." 

Timmy blushes. "Kiss me." 

They kiss and kiss, and it feels like relearning and discovery at one and the same time. 

Finally Timmy's on top of Armie, spread across him, having to physically restrain himself from rolling his hips for desperately-needed friction. 

"Armie—" he gasps, at last. "We need to stop. I'm gonna ruin these sweats if we don't." 

Armie groans. "Jesus Christ. Way to make sure I  _ can't  _ stop." 

Just at that moment, there's a plaintive wail from down the hall. 

Timmy freezes up, but Armie strokes his back. 

"He might go back to sleep," he murmurs. 

Ford doesn't stop, though, and Timmy has the odd urge to apologise to him for being all over his dad like a rash. He rolls to the side to let Armie get up, tucking himself into a fetal position. 

"I'm sorry," says Armie, stroking his cheek. "If I don't go, he'll wake Hops, and—"

Timmy laughs. "I can't believe you're actually apologising to me right now. Go, go." 

When Armie's gone, he rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.  _ We're fucking—well, heavily making out—with his kids in the apartment. Is that bad? Weird? Normal?  _

_ Are we going to fuck? _

_ I haven't even taken my clothes off yet. Well, I did, but I made him turn round.  _

_ Wow, way to reinforce the impression of being a bashful fucking teenager.  _

_ I kind of feel like one though.  _

He lets himself be lulled by Armie's distant murmurs, closing his eyes to listen better. He doesn't fall asleep but he does drift, thinking and not thinking. When the door opens again, Timmy blinks his eyes open. 

Armie smiles, tall, golden, muscled and glowing with happiness. "Thought you'd fallen asleep for a second there." 

Timmy reaches out for him. "All okay?" 

"All okay." Armie climbs onto the bed and kneels foursquare over him. Timmy runs his hands across his chest. "I'm glad you're not asleep." 

Timmy grins. "So am I." 

Armie leans down to kiss him, slipping his right arm around his waist. "You know there's still no pressure?" he murmurs, eyes dark blue, sincere. 

"I know." Timmy kisses back, then swallows. "You—you felt how much I want you, right?" 

Slowly, Armie nods. He pulls Timmy close, turning them both onto their sides. "I just don't want to—rush, you know? You're leaving tomorrow. I don't want to push things and fuck up." His hand sweeps Timmy's side in a long, luxurious skim. 

Timmy kisses Armie's chin, then nuzzles beneath it to kiss his neck. "We won't fuck it up." Absolute confidence rings in his voice. "I swear." 

"The idea of you leaving…" Armie lets the words hang in the air. 

"Don't think about it." Timmy kisses him fiercely. "It'll be like ten days. I'll come right back. I'll just rebook my flight through to LA instead." 

Armie smiles. "Actually, I won't have the kids then. I was thinking—if you wanted—I could come help you get settled into your new place." 

Timmy bites his lip. "You really want to?" 

"Sure. It'll be fun. I want to see the place. I'm hoping I'll be invited round often."

_ He meant it about me not totally leaving New York.  _ Timmy's heart swells at the thought. "You will." 

"You didn't sound that enthusiastic about the apartment." Armie nuzzles Timmy's neck and bites softly at his earlobe. 

"No no, it's good! It's just kind of three bare white cubes with my stuff in the middle right now. I need to find some art, arrange my stuff. There's a huge wardrobe, thank god." 

_ "Three  _ bare white cubes, Chalamet? In New York? Now I  _ know  _ you're doing well."

Timmy giggles and punches him lightly on the shoulder. He chases Armie's lips too, drawing him into a kiss that has them both breathless before long. 

Timmy's hard again, uncomfortably so; but he ignores it in favor of giving Armie whatever space he needs. He looks perfect, in Timmy's opinion: eyes bright, hair a total mess, cheeks pink, lips a plush, abused red. 

"You look incredible." Timmy bites at Armie's jaw. "You have no idea."

Armie huffs a laugh. "So do you." He tangles his large hand in Timmy's curls, mussing them still further. "I should've shaved though." He gently touches Timmy's chin. 

Timmy grins, bringing his own hand up to feel the tender skin. "I don't mind. Something to remember you by."

"Ha. Let's hope the paps don't speculate about who you've been kissing."

"Oh come on. They won't speculate much, will they? They know  _ you _ live in LA."

Armie gives a reluctant laugh. "Don't joke. You could fuck up your career."

Timmy looks at him, surprised.  _ Oh. Oh.  _

Armie's expression immediately changes to one of penitent worry. "Tim. Oh, fuck. Don't look like that." 

Timmy bites his lip. "You want to keep us a secret," he says, flatly. 

"No—no.  _ No.  _ I already said I want to tell the kids. I just—I don't think you should rush into any declarations to the press until you've thought things through."

"Why is it suddenly me on my own?" asks Timmy, trying to keep his voice even, despite the wobble that wants to betray him. "Can't we decide—when, what, how—together?" 

"Because—oh, and I hate saying this, because you're going to hate it—you're young. You're the up and coming star. I could mean you never get an Oscar."

_ "You're  _ fucking young." Timmy rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. "I could fuck up  _ your  _ career." 

"I have  _ much  _ less to lose, Tim. Believe me."

Timmy turns to Armie, and buries his face against his chest. "Shut up. Just shut up." He fights the urge to cry. 

Armie's hand is a soft, caressing slide through Timmy's curls. "I can absolutely just shut up, Chalamet." 

"You always do that, Armie. Pretend you're washed up and have nothing more to give. But you get better and better. Every single role. Don't you  _ dare _ give me that bullshit. I'm not interested." His eyes are hot, his voice wobbly.

Armie kisses the top of his head, over and over. "It's okay, Tim. It's okay." 

"And don't be so nice to me when I'm yelling at you."

"Okay, you little asshole. Noted." 

Timmy bites his shoulder. "Fuck you."

"Please." 

He bites him again, trying to fight a smile.

"I just want you to be sure, Chalamet, okay? I didn't mean  _ anything  _ about not being sure about us—about this—because I am."

Timmy takes a long breath. "I...I know what you mean, okay? But I want—I want us to take decisions about stuff like this  _ together." _ He presses his lips against Armie's shoulder, against the place he'd bitten. "I...think I need that."

Slowly, Armie nods. "Okay. And…" he hesitates a second. "You have to remember I was in one relationship for a really long time. I got used to its own particular dynamics. I need—I need you to keep doing what you just did. Telling me what works for you, and what doesn't."

"Same, though," Timmy says, earnestly. "I just need to know." He swallows, embarrassed. "I haven't really done...this, before. Something real. Long-term. Uh. I hope, I mean." 

Armie leans forward and rubs their noses together. "Okay." 

"Okay." Timmy takes a breath. Gently, he brushes his lips against Armie's. 

Armie hauls him closer, making Timmy smile. When they kiss, Timmy hooks his leg over Armie's hip. 

They press back and forth into one another's space; gasps and soft murmurs as they learn what the other likes. Armie's hands end up under Timmy's borrowed t-shirt, traveling slowly across pale skin. 

Timmy shudders when Armie grazes his nipple, hips hitching involuntarily. 

"Fuck, Tim." Armie's voice is low, full of need.

Timmy rolls him onto his back; straddles him, feeling the hard line of Armie's cock beneath him. He tangles their fingers together, and kisses every one of Armie's knuckles. Leans down to kiss him, holding his arms above his head.

Armie frees his hands and settles one on Timmy's hip, the other on his cheek. "Let me make you come," he murmurs, voice deep. His eyes are piercing blue. 

Timmy's breath catches. He nods. His mind races, wondering what Armie has in mind; he knows, quite suddenly, that he's not ready for anal yet.  _ First time,  _ he thinks, nervously.  _ Don't think I can handle that right now.  _

But Armie seems to have simplicity in mind. He props himself on his elbow and reaches to the bedside table to grab a bottle of lube. He barely moves Timmy; just slowly unties the drawstrings on his sweats and traces the skin just above the waistband with his fingertips. 

"Yes?" 

Timmy nods again, heart pounding. He doesn't trust his voice right now. 

Gently, Armie slips his hand inside the sweatpants, and then his elegant fingers wrap around Timmy's cock. 

Timmy shudders. He leans on his hands, hair falling forward around his face.

Armie looks up at him wonderingly. "You have no fucking idea how good you look. Here." He pushes at the sweatpants a little, pulling Timmy's cock out over the waistband. "Put some lube in my palm?"

When Armie touches him, it's almost too much, warm and slick and perfect. 

"Fuck." Timmy blushes, knowing he must be bright red. "Armie...this is going to be  _ embarrassingly  _ fast." 

Armie grins, with that beautiful, unstoppable glow. "Put it this way Tim. If we'd kept making out something  _ much _ more embarrassing would've happened to me eventually." 

Timmy laughs, and licks across his lips, catching his breath as Armie builds a steady rhythm. "You don't want me to—"

Armie shakes his head. "I want to watch you first." 

"Are you being all gentlemanly about who comes first?"

Armie grins. "Just selfish. I know you'll look perfect."

"Hmm," says Timmy skeptically, but all his ability to think is swept away as Armie increases the pace of his hand just a little. "Oh…"

"Put your hand over mine?" murmurs Armie. "Show me." 

"Don't think there's anything you could do that'd—"

Armie grins, rolling his eyes. "That's good, Tim, but I want to learn what you  _ like." _

Timmy shifts his weight, and reaches down to cover Armie's hand with his own. He rests his forehead against Armie's, giggling as Armie blows one of his curls away from his lips. 

"Sorry about the hair." 

"Shh. Don't you dare. I love the hair." 

_ "Fuck…"  _ whispers Timmy, eyes falling closed. He tightens his hand a little, showing Armie the stroke he usually uses on himself. 

"Can I see your eyes?" murmurs Armie.

Timmy groans softly as he opens them. "Really just trying to take away any shred of control I have then, huh." 

Armie grins. "Please tell me you're not closing your eyes and thinking about Trump, or something." 

"Eugh." Timmy sits back and flicks Armie's chest with the back of his hand. "Thanks for that. I'm done for the night." 

Armie laughs, and gives Timmy's cock a deliciously tight, slow stroke. "I disagree. Come back here." 

Timmy shivers. "Bastard," he murmurs, as he settles himself back over Armie. 

Armie kisses him, nibbling at his bottom lip. "I know. The worst."

"Glad you agree." Timmy gasps, tensing as everything suddenly feels far too pleasurable. "I need—I need to stop—"

"Why?" 

"I'm going to come if we—I'm sorry, I know it's super fast, I'm just—"

"Chalamet." Armie strokes the line of his jaw, touch soothing. "I  _ want  _ you to. I'm desperate to myself. Stop worrying." 

"I'm not usually—"

Armie gives him a look. "Four years of build-up will do that to a guy." 

"You—where should I—" 

"Just like this is good. No need to move." 

"On—"

Armie smiles at him, the corners of his eyes crinkled with happiness and amusement. "I would absolutely  _ love  _ you to come on my skin, yes." He brushes his thumb across Timmy's lips, and the delicate skin is far too oversensitive for that. 

Timmy shivers and bites, holding Armie's thumb in tension between his teeth. He fears that the touch to his lips was too much, the last straw—

His hand tightens unconsciously on Armie's, and he can't prevent himself from rolling his hips too, pressing into the tight slick heat of their combined grip.

"Perfect," murmurs Armie.  _ "Perfect.  _ Yes, Tim. Come for me. Let me see you."

"Oh, fuck…" Timmy releases Armie's thumb, letting his head hang forward, pressing his forehead to Armie's. He's panting, now, almost groaning with every stroke. "Armie, Armie—"

"Yes, you look so good, Tim, so fucking perfect—come for me—" 

_ Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck— _ Timmy starts to come, driving forward into the perfect tightness around him, surrounded by Armie, by the feeling of his hand on his cheek, his jaw, his neck—

"Oh my god," whispers Timmy at last, collapsing forward into Armie's arms, onto his chest, luxuriating in being held, in being welcomed into Armie's embrace. 

Armie holds him tight, kissing lightly at every bit of Timmy's face he can reach. "Perfect," he murmurs, and Timmy wants to stretch like a cat.  _ Armie says I was perfect.  _

Slowly, Timmy sits up. When Armie gasps slightly, he realises quite how hard he is. Teasingly, he wriggles on the rigid line beneath him. 

Armie groans and gives him an amused warning look. "Careful, Tim." 

Timmy smiles, and scans down Armie's body. Relaxed and full of joy, he wants nothing more than to make Armie feel exactly this good too. 

Slowly, he draws a finger through the mess on Armie's stomach. "Sorry," he says, with a lopsided grin. 

Armie laughs softly. "I got what I asked for." He reaches out and guides Timmy's hand to his mouth.

"Really?" asks Timmy, wrinkling his nose. He resists the pull of Armie's hand for a second, watching with fascination. 

"Really." Armie smiles, then sucks the finger covered in Timmy's come. "Very really." 

Timmy watches, wide-eyed, as he swallows. "What do you want me to do for you?" he asks. He leans down to kiss Armie, licking into his mouth for the taste.

"Fuck." Armie groans. He pulls Timmy down next to him and leans in for another kiss. "I've kind of reached that stage where my brain doesn't work," he smiles, resting their foreheads together. 

Timmy grins. He pushes the sweatpants off and throws them over the edge of the bed, then reaches for Armie's boxers. He draws them carefully down Armie's legs, bending to kiss his knees, and then his ankles. He hears Armie chuckle at the gesture. 

When Timmy lies down next to Armie again, he plasters himself along his side and kisses him, stroking the golden skin of his stomach softly. "Love your belly," he murmurs. "Always have." 

Armie kisses him again. Timmy recognises it as a mute plea. Reaching for the lube, he hesitates before using it. Swipes his right palm through his come on Armie's stomach, then adds lube on top. Smiles at the slight widening of Armie's eyes. 

_ You look so innocent, don't you?  _ says Armie's surprised grin. 

Timmy wraps his hand around him, without teasing, remembering his own desperate need to come. "Show me too," he murmurs, kissing the corner of Armie's mouth, and then Armie's hand is around his. 

Renewed arousal is a lazy ache in Timmy's thighs as he watches himself stroking Armie's cock, guided by that huge, elegant hand—a harder, faster touch than he'd expected, the tensing of those beautiful stomach muscles as Armie gasps, holding on,  _ holding on— _

"Don't wait," whispers Timmy, kissing his cheek, his eyelid, his nose, his temple, oddly protective of his gentle giant, knowing the rush of need that must be pulling him along. "I want to see, Armie. I want to see you." 

"Oh, fuck—say it again," groans Armie with a twist of a smile, half-laughing at his own desire.

"Armie," grins Timmy. "Armie, Armie, Armie." And then he tries to note what Armie likes as he comes, how the strokes remain hard for longer than he'd have expected, how he likes to be held at the head at the end. 

Timmy realises with surprise and amusement that he's hard again, cock pressed against Armie's hipbone. 

"Fuck," murmurs Armie, eyes closed; Timmy remembers the relief of being held, and curls himself around him. 

After a while: "Tim, are you hard again?" 

Timmy grins. He can't muster the energy to be embarrassed. "It was quite a show." 

"Oh, shit. I must be mad starting a relationship with a guy ten years younger than me."

"Hey, excess of sex is a good way to die." 

Armie snorts, and then they can't stop laughing; half-wrestling, pulling at one another, until Timmy ends up lying on top of Armie, their fingers threaded together, making peace with a long, deep kiss.

"We're messy," murmurs Armie, happily.

"Figured we'd shower," mumbles Timmy, kissing a trail around the curve of Armie's ear.

"Mmm." Armie sounds blissful at the thought, squeezing Timmy close. "You're not really gonna need pyjamas, are you?"

Timmy giggles. "I get  _ cold."  _

"What if I keep you warm?" 

"I don't know if that'll work." 

Armie murmurs in his ear, "at least give it a try."

Timmy sighs. "Well, okay. But if you find me getting dressed in the night, you'll know you failed." 

"You're fine now, aren't you?" 

"Armie, I have goosebumps. Feel."

Armie laughs. "Oh, your  _ ass  _ is where you get cold?" 

Timmy bites him on the chest, then the shoulder. "It was a useful expanse of skin to demonstrate with." 

"I can't feel anything. I'm going to look." Armie tips him over onto his front, holding him down as Timmy giggles and tries to squirm away. 

"You said  _ look—" _ giggles Timmy, struggling. 

"I  _ am _ looking," laughs Armie, sinking his teeth into Timmy's buttock. "Closely." 

Timmy goes limp, practically purring as Armie kisses a trail up his spine. "See? I get cold," he mumbles, arching his neck to allow Armie better access. "Mmm." 

"You love your neck being kissed," diagnoses Armie, and Timmy can feel the curve of his lips in a smile. 

"Mm-hmm." Timmy stretches like a cat, curling his fingers into the pillow.  _ "More." _

Armie laughs, biting softly at the place where Timmy's shoulder meets his neck. "Well, I'm glad I've learned  _ one  _ way to reduce you to a puddle." 

"Think there are a lot, when it's you. Lie down on me, please?" 

Armie kisses the place between Timmy's shoulderblades. "I'll squash you." 

"Oh, shush. Lie down on me, you ridiculous man." 

Gingerly, Armie does so; and Timmy hums satisfaction at the blissful press of their bodies, the acres of Armie's skin. Armie tucks his head in the crook of Timmy's neck, kissing lazily at whatever skin he can reach. 

"I'm so happy," whispers Timmy. He can't stop smiling. 

"You sound like you again," murmurs Armie in return. And: "so am I." 

"I spent so much time trying to make it go away, Armie." 

"I'm glad you didn't manage."

"I think it made me—sadder than I realised. Kind of." 

Armie doesn't say anything for a second; then he rolls gently off Timmy and onto his side. Pulls him close, into a kiss that spins out, a kiss like a conversation.

"I missed you. Every day," is what he says, in the end. 

_ Me too, Armie. So fucking much.  _ "I'm really sorry I went kind of AWOL." Timmy swallows. "I didn't know how to—it just kind of—hurt. A lot. I thought, with the kids, and everything—you wouldn't want to…" he takes a breath, trying to marshal his scattered sentences. "I thought you'd want to be with someone older. Maybe like another parent, or someone with experience of kids, at least." 

Armie smiles. "Yes, that would be very convenient," he teases, gently. "Not  _ sure  _ that's how love works, but okay." 

Timmy bites Armie's chin. "Alright, alright. I'm an idiot. I get it." 

"Well, you said it."

"You're supposed to argue, asshole." 

Armie grins, and kisses the corner of Timmy's mouth. "I'll run the shower?" 

"Mmm." 

When he hears the shower start, Timmy prises himself off the bed and follows Armie, stopping for a moment to enjoy the sight of him in the spray.  _ Fuck. Oh, fuck, you're beautiful.  _

Armie turns to look at him, and grins. "Hi." 

Timmy leans back against the doorframe, arms folded behind him against the sharp angles of the wood. "Hey." 

"Joining?" Armie's shoulders do the thing they always do when he's a little self-conscious. 

"Yes. When I'm done ogling." 

Armie laughs. "Well, you're honest." 

"You know that. 'Terrifyingly honest', is what I think you said. Now you're just going to get that applied to how gorgeous and wonderful I think you are. So. Prepare yourself." 

Armie sighs. "Oh, god. You know I'm not good with compliments." 

"I know. Curmudgeon. Maybe you'll get used to it eventually."

"Get in the shower, Tim."

"See? Curmudgeon." Timmy opens the shower door, and is welcomed gladly into Armie's embrace. He kisses those long, blunt collarbones, putting out his tongue to the drops of water glistening there.

Armie reaches for the shower gel, and they wash one another slowly. 

Timmy's curls are getting damp, and he knows they'll be a frizzy mess in the morning; he can't bring himself to care. "I'm glad the shower's tall enough for you," he says, grinning and looking up.

Armie laughs. "I never know what's going on in your head."

"I thought you could read it all on my face?" 

"Not the random things you come out with."

"Not the fact I've been in love with you all this time."

Armie cups Timmy's face in his hands. "No. Not that." 

"You see it now?" Timmy's throat feels tight. 

"Yes. I do." 

Timmy swallows. "Good." He turns Armie around and starts to massage his shoulders. "Don't think either the shower or the bed will be tall enough for you in my new place." 

He can hear the smile in Armie's voice. "That's okay. I'm used to it." There's a pause. "I want you—us—to be in New York as much as we can, Tim." 

Timmy kisses his back. "Okay. As long as you let me come here too." He takes a breath. "I want to learn more about taking care of Harper and Ford. Get better at it." 

"And I want you to show me your city." 

"I can do that." He digs his thumbs into the base of Armie's spine, eliciting a deep, luxurious groan. "Also, you have to keep making noises like  _ that." _

"Mmm. Then keep making me." 

"I can do that, too." Timmy wraps his arms around Armie's waist and hugs him, squeezing him tight with overflowing happiness. Armie's hands travel Timmy's forearms and come to rest on top of his. 

"What time's your flight tomorrow?" he asks, half-turning his head. 

"Late afternoon. Four-something, I think? But I'll have to get back to the hotel for check-out at twelve." 

Armie chuckles quietly. "I wouldn't worry about that. The kids'll wake us at five, probably." 

Timmy groans. "Uh—so should I set an alarm for like...four? Get ready and go pretend to sleep on the sofa?" 

Armie squeezes his hands. "Don't be ridiculous. We'll just lock the door so Harper can't barge in like she usually does. If I tell her she can go watch cartoons she'll be so focused on that she won't think it through, and even if we told them you had a sleepover in my room, they don't really understand what that means." 

Timmy sighs, and kisses Armie's back. "Whatever you say." 

Armie smiles. "Promise." 

"Is it hard dealing with the two of them on your own?"

"It can be, yeah." Armie nods. "Especially when they're tired and whiny, and—well, actually, when I'm tired and whiny too. Trying to stay patient—you know I'm not very good at that." He turns in Timmy's arms.

"I don't know. I think you're far  _ too _ patient sometimes." 

Armie puts his hand on Timmy's cheek. "Not anymore. Kiss me."

Timmy smiles, and does. "I think we're clean." 

Armie shuts off the shower. "Let me have a shot at keeping you warm, then." He passes Timmy a towel, and wraps one around his own waist. 

Timmy stares, slightly despairingly, at his hair in the mirror, scrunching it in his hands. "Sorry for how  _ this  _ is going to be in the morning." 

Armie laughs, and wraps his hand across the nape of Timmy's neck, pulling him away. "Don't be ridiculous. Come on." 

In bed, Timmy winds himself down Armie's side, pillowing his head on his chest. He strokes Armie's ribs, fingertips light across the skin; touches his stomach and hipbones, circles around his bellybutton. "Who do you think tops?" he asks, then blushes. 

Armie laughs, hard. 

"No, I just—I mean, I assumed you, because…" Timmy shrugs. "I don't know, I didn't know if…" 

Armie's grinning as he kisses Timmy's forehead. "You didn't know if I'd even want to try any of it? And if I'd be okay bottoming, or if I'd have some kind of macho problem with it?" 

Timmy doesn't say anything. 

Armie takes a breath, sobering a little. "I've never done anything with any guy but you, Tim, and most of that was for a movie. So. But I can't envisage myself  _ not _ wanting to try anything with you. Anything you wanted to, obviously." 

Timmy looks up at him, searching his face for truth. It's there without doubt. 

"The idea of hurting you  _ freaks  _ me out," adds Armie hastily, as if confessing something. "I'd want to be really careful. Take our time." He takes a breath. "Why? Who do  _ you _ think tops?" 

"Probably you," grins Timmy. "But I want to try everything too." He kisses Armie's chest. "I thought maybe you  _ would  _ want to hurt me, just a bit." 

Armie laughs, and sighs. "Oh, those Twitter likes. I don't think it counts as a fetish, even. Ropes can be fun, but—" he shrugs. "It's not about  _ hurting  _ you." 

Timmy looks up at him, curiously. "What  _ is  _ it about?" 

"Trust. Respect. Giving someone what they need, and nothing they didn't ask for."

"Like all sex."

Armie gives him that soft, rueful look that means,  _ you are too sweet. _ "Should be. Yes."

Curiosity about  _ that _ flares in Timmy's chest; but given that Armie's main sexual partner in adulthood was presumably his ex-wife, he quashes any desire to ask. He's not sure of his own ability to handle the answers he might receive, anyway. 

"How long do you think you'll be able to stay for, in New York?" he asks, instead. 

"I don't think I'm due the kids until the weekend after that, so I can stay a few days, if you'd like me to."

"Of course I would. Stay as long as you can. As long as you want to." 

Armie kisses him. "You ever want to take the truly unwise decision to stay awake all night talking, even though you know you have to try and be nice to your kids the next day?" 

Timmy grins. "In New York we can stay awake as long as we want. Can't promise all of it will be for talking though." 

"That's alright. Think I can bear that." Armie moves to kiss Timmy's chest, his sternum and stomach, his hipbones and thighs, his knees and ankles. "Fuck. I can't believe I get to do this." He kisses back up Timmy's leg, focusing in on his thighs. 

Timmy sighs and arches his back decadently. He wants to say  _ thank you for doing it,  _ but he's afraid it might sound stupid. 

When Armie kisses his half-hard cock, Timmy groans softly and strokes his hand through Armie's hair. 

"You don't have to," he says. 

Armie grins. "Shhh. I'm exploring. Never done it before though, so it'll be shit, probably." 

Timmy laughs. "Okay, Hammer. Whatever you say."

Armie puts his hands on Timmy's hipbones and brushes his thumbs back and forth across the sensitive skin of his stomach. Inadvertently teasing, he explores the length of Timmy's cock slowly with small, gentle kisses; it seems a long time before he puts his tongue out and tastes, then starts to lick. 

Timmy pulls the pillow behind his head so that he can watch better, and reaches down to caress Armie's shoulder, his hair, his jaw. After a minute he pulls his hand back. "Is that annoying?" 

Armie gives him an amused look. "No. I like knowing you're watching." 

Timmy traces the curve of Armie's ear as he watches him return to his task.

Dipping down to take the head of Timmy's cock in his mouth, Armie moves his right hand to hold the base. He explores further, taking in more, and slowly begins to build a rhythm, swirling his tongue and tightening the suction. When he finds the spot just under the head that always feels incredible, Timmy has to hold back a groan. 

"Yes?" Armie asks, smiling. 

"Yes." Timmy nods, and Armie starts again. 

Every sensation is overwhelming in its intensity and the thought that  _ Armie's sucking me, fucking hell _ adds an extra edge to each touch. Timmy has no idea how long it is until he's digging his fingernails into Armie's shoulder, grasping tightly at the sheet with his other hand. "Armie—Armie—do you want me to—or—we could switch to something else, or—" 

Armie caresses Timmy's stomach with his left hand and swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, finishing with a wicked lap at the frenulum. "Come in my mouth," he says, making eye contact. He looks  _ proud. _

"Fuck," sighs Timmy, fighting the urge to push his hips up. Armie hollows his cheeks, and the sight makes Timmy's stomach fall away. Wonderingly, he traces Armie's cheekbone and strokes through his hair. 

When he comes, he bites down on the side of his own hand to muffle the noises he's making. He opens his eyes, only to see Armie swallow. Oddly moved by the sight, he sits up and kisses Armie deeply, cradling his jaw in his hand. 

"Oh my  _ god,"  _ he murmurs, as Armie rearranges them, pulls him back down to lie on his chest. "Armie…" he stretches, practically purring with contentment. 

He feels Armie kiss the top of his head. 

"Don't you want me to try?" asks Timmy, raising his head to make eye contact. 

Armie smiles. "We haven't all got the refractory period of a teenager. In the morning you're  _ very _ welcome, if the monsters give us a chance." 

Timmy grins. He can feel sleep pulling at him, deep, satisfied exhaustion making his limbs heavy. "I'll hold you to that."

*

In the end it's five-thirty, not five, that Harper tries the door of Armie's room. 

Armie scrunches his hand in his own hair and groans softly, chest still heaving from the successful conclusion of Timmy's first ever blow job. 

Timmy crawls up to lie on top of him as Armie calls, "go put your cartoons on, Hops. I'll be there to make breakfast in a minute." 

"Perfect timing," whispers Timmy, kissing Armie on the cheek. 

"Come here," murmurs Armie, kissing him deeply and licking into his mouth, tasting himself. "Sorry I can't do something about  _ this," _ he adds, stroking Timmy's hip to indicate the hard length pressed between their bellies. 

Timmy smiles; shrugs. "That was bound to happen, sucking you. I'm good." He adds, "we're even." 

Armie gives him a wide, glowing grin. "That how it works, huh?" 

Timmy returns it. "Maybe. Hopefully. Mostly." 

Armie groans, hands traveling Timmy's sides, caressing and squeezing his ass. "I'm going to miss you, so much."

"You talking to me or my ass?" 

"Both. Definitely both." 

"Kiss me," murmurs Timmy. "Plenty. In case we can't say goodbye properly later."

After a while, Armie murmurs reluctantly, "I'd better get Ford. When he hears Hops watching cartoons without him, he'll scream."

Timmy smiles. "I'll take a quick shower, if that's okay?"

"Yes, Tim, that's quite okay." Armie kisses Timmy's neck a couple times, humming satisfaction when he arches it greedily to the side for more. "I love you," he adds, as he kisses the dip at the base of Timmy's neck. 

"Fuck. I love you too." Timmy grabs Armie's head and pulls him up, kissing him again. "Now go away. Get your son before he screams." 

Armie groans and sits on the edge of the bed, pulling on yesterday's clothes. He dips down for two more kisses before he leaves. 

Timmy grins, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. 

*

It's torture, watching Armie make breakfast and not being able to put his arms around him. They eat pancakes all together, and Timmy nearly chokes on his coffee when Armie puts his foot gently over his, under the table. 

Armie grins, and mouthes  _ Oliver.  _

_ Elio,  _ returns Timmy, chest tugging with the need to kiss him. 

Timmy washes up the breakfast dishes and helps unload the dishwasher, despite every protest that Armie gives. And when he's nearly done, he's surprised by the touch of a small hand to his.

Expecting Harper, he looks down and finds Ford looking up at him instead. "Captain Toad?" he asks, looking from Timmy to the TV. 

Timmy's heart melts. He kneels down to Ford, looking up at Armie for permission. Armie nods, glowing with an adoring grin. 

"Sure. You want to help me set it up?" asks Timmy, holding out his hand. After a second, Ford takes it, and leads him to the TV.

They play until Timmy has to leave. Harper and Ford both hug him goodbye; Armie holds him close for longer than Timmy had expected in front of the kids, breathing him in. 

"See you in New York," he says, voice a little rough. 

Timmy nods, not trusting his own voice if he answered. His eyes feel hot, dangerously close to tears.

"Are you going to visit Timmy?" asks Harper, winding her arm around her dad's leg. 

"Yes, Hops. While your mom has you guys. In a couple weeks." 

Harper pouts. "I want to come." 

Armie laughs, voice still a little off. "Not this time, sweetheart. But we'll try and arrange it."

Timmy digs his hands into his pockets, still not trusting his voice. He gives a quick wave as he leaves, trying to tell Armie everything that he needs to know with his eyes.  _ I love you. I can't believe this happened. I'll miss you.  _

*

_ Outgoing FaceTime call: Armie _

"Hey." Armie smiles at him. "You back?" 

Timmy tips the camera away from himself, showing his Barcelona hotel room. "Back."

"Get your damn face on the screen, Chalamet." 

Timmy giggles and drops onto the bed. "Alright, alright. Shit, Hammer." Then, "sure it's my face you want?" 

Armie grins. "For now. You can show me the rest later." 

Arousal lances through Timmy, a hot ache in his belly, lightning down his spine. 

"Fuck. I miss you already." 

Armie looks at him fondly. "Countdown's already started, Tim. Eleven days 'til we meet in New York." 

Timmy grins. "I've thought of so many things I'm going to take you to see. And loads of stuff I loved when I was a kid? For when you  _ can _ bring them with you. And like eighty places we need to go to eat—" 

Armie grins, and Timmy blushes. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. I love you. Carry on." 

*


End file.
